


Nothin' for Free

by Yolo_contendere



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Blowjobs, Bottom Billy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling (Reluctantly) in Love, Homophobic Slurs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, M/M, Misogynistic Slurs, Misogyny, POV Alternating, Pining, Robin is basically Stevie from Schitt's Creek, brief het sex, dubcon, gratuitous blowjobs because Steve doesn't understand gay sex yet, literal boatloads of angst, oral fixation (you know WHO this is about)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2019-11-16 10:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 83,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18092690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yolo_contendere/pseuds/Yolo_contendere
Summary: He’d slip out of this town in a couple months, and Hawkins wouldn’t look over its shoulder for Billy Hargrove. Steve Harrington certainly wouldn’t.Billy would have to fix that.OR: The one where Billy gives Steve a blowjob before he leaves Hawkins, getting him addicted to his mouth. And maybe more.





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> I have never in my life written fanfic before. BUT THESE HAIRSPRAY LOSERS - these literal, swear to God, losers - have um? destroyed my life? Obviously, I had to write about 50k worth of angsty porn to sort out my feelings (and theirs). Mind the tags, enjoy, and maybe comment if you like it. I have this more than half-way done and am aiming for a weekly update schedule.

Saturdays in Hawkins, like nothing else in his life, were consistent. When Billy was good and gone, some poor bastard would probably take his place, doomed to an endless horizon of weekends just like this. At a bumpkin party, sulking with boredom.

And he’d be gone soon. He was bound for basic at Fort Benning in Columbus, Georgia on the sixth of August. It was the fifteenth of May today.

And a Saturday.

He was posted on a lawn chair at Chad Lattimore's house, their point guard on the basketball team, a cup of beer slowly warming in his left hand while a cigarette smouldered in his right. Billy used the beer to chase the burn of vodka from his throat, then ordered Tommy to get another shot the moment he scraped a chair back next to him. 

Somewhere in this house, Steve Harrington was loping around, wearing fucking pressed khakis and loafers, like he’d come straight from church. He hadn’t seen Harrington in months, and truly, he’d only seen him for a moment tonight. Just a flash in the crowd. That’d been over an hour ago. An hour Billy had spent out here, sipping his warm beer, sending Tommy on more laps for booze, and chain-smoking cigarettes.

This was his last one. He dropped it into his cup where it hissed and sizzled out. The ashes rose to the top like a grey film. Billy shoved to his feet, stuck his hands into his pockets, and stalked back into the house.

The party was dwindling, which would usually be his cue to fuck off, ride a few laps around Cherry Street before sneaking back into his room. Instead, he found himself on the second story, idly pushing doors open until he made it to the end of the hall. This door was shut too. He pressed his hand against the wood, then his ear. Nothing. 

Billy turned the knob and slipped inside, the same way he’d slip through his window later tonight. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark. There were two people on the bed, one lying down, one perched on the edge.

“Hey, someone’s in here,” said a girl. When she moved, Billy caught sight of Harrington’s hair fanned over the pillow, his face squished into the fabric.

Billy considered him, then looked at the girl. He vaguely remembered her from Chem class, a bland face handing back their quizzes. “How ‘bout you let me take Harrington here off your hands. We go way back," he said.

She frowned. "I think I got it." 

Harrington groaned unintelligibly into his pillow.

"Enjoying yourself, pretty boy?" said Billy, rounding the bed. He crouched in front of Steve, curled his fingers over his shoulder, and rolled him so he was facing Billy. He gave his cheek a sharp tap. Steve blinked slow, heavy lids at him. His lips parted, revealing the tip of a pink tongue.

Billy reached for a cup of water on the side table and fed the lip to his mouth. He tipped it back too far and water dribbled over his chin. Steve tried to swallow around it, his throat working to lap it up.

“That’s it. Gotta keep you hydrated,” Billy murmured, caught up in the way Steve’s tongue darted out to swipe the water from his lips. Offhandedly to the girl, he said, “You should go back downstairs.”

Her frown turned severe, the exact look Harrington’s Wheeler bitch wore around. "I don't know if that's a good idea."

Without looking at her, he said, "Go on. You can fuck him when I’m done."

She made an affronted noise, but the mattress squeaked, followed by the hurried clicking of shoes across the floor. Billy locked the door behind her.

At the dip of the bed, Steve’s head lifted up, and his hooded eyes blinked slowly at him. “It’s Billy,” said Steve. Billy placed his hand in Steve’s hair because Steve wouldn’t remember, and he was leaving soon.

“It’s Billy,” he confirmed. “Got yourself a little drunk here, Harrington.”

His hair was stiff with hairspray but soft at the roots. He tangled his fingers into the fine strands at his nape. Steve nuzzled into the pillow, letting out a long sigh.

“Mmm,” he said.

“Someone could take advantage.” 

Harrington flapped his hand as if physically waving that idea out of the way. “Nnn,” he said.

Keeping his hand in Steve’s hair, Billy kicked off his boots and nudged Steve over on the bed so he could settle down beside him. They faced each other. Steve’s eyes were open a slit, his pink tongue visible through the seam of his lips.

Billy pressed the pad of his thumb to the plump center of his bottom lip with his free hand. “Been a while since I’ve seen you, pretty boy.”

Steve’s shoulder shrugged up. “Been lookin’ for me?” he mumbled.

Billy didn’t answer him. He had his hands in his hair and his thumb on his lip, and he could feel Steve’s breath damp across his fingers. Billy catalogued every freckle on his face, committing their constellation to memory. He’d slip out of this town in a couple months, leave Saturdays in Hawkins behind, and Hawkins wouldn’t look over its shoulder for Billy Hargrove. Steve Harrington certainly wouldn’t.

“Don’t remember these last I saw you. Get yourself something new?” Billy dragged his hand away from Steve’s mouth and plucked at the belt loop of his khakis.

Steve cracked a wobbly grin. “Country club,” he mumbled.

Billy hummed, hooking his fingertip under the waistband. Steve’s shirt had ridden up, revealing creamy skin and a dark trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistline. Billy licked his lips, thinking. He had Steve here, practically beneath him. His hair was fanned out over the pillow, and his eyes were so big and dark they almost looked black. He had Steve right here, a clip from one of his fantasies. Steve who might not remember seeing him here tonight.

He’d have to fix that. 

Billy tugged on his pants. “C’mere, pretty boy. Turn over for me.”

Steve made a questioning noise but slowly rolled over onto his back. Billy propped himself on his elbow, his hand flat against Steve’s belly. His skin was warm and soft. A few more freckles peeped out from under the shirt’s hem and he wanted to memorize those too. Billy slowly pushed his shirt up until it was gathered beneath his arms.

“Mm, ‘s cold,” Steve complained, squirming.

Billy swept his hand up Steve’s chest, fanning his fingers across his pink nipples. “Shh, don’t you worry, princess. I’ve got you.”

“Billy,” Steve said. He looked like he was going to try to sit up, so Billy placed a bracing hand on his hips, pushing him further into the bed.

“Relax, you’ll like this. Trust me.”

Billy pushed at his hips until Steve did eventually relax. He swiped his other hand over the nub of a nipple. Then he did it again when Steve made a noise. He’d had this exact image in mind more times than he could count. More times than he fucking wanted to, an unconscious desire inserting itself into his thoughts when he wasn’t even thinking about Steve Harrington.

Billy smoothed his hands down Steve’s hips, over his thighs, then back up again. Steve made another questing noise, so Billy thumbed at the button of his slacks. He felt the fine hair trailing from Steve’s navel beneath his fingers and he wanted to feel it under his mouth instead. Billy popped the button, gripped the zipper of his fly, and pulled it down to reveal dark grey briefs underneath.

He cupped the swell of Steve’s cock under his palm, gratified to feel it twitch for him. “There he is, King Steve,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the warm skin of Steve’s hip, right over a dark freckle.

“What’re you—doing?” said Steve.

Billy inhaled, pulling his scent through the material of his briefs. He smelled dark and musky, and so fucking good his hips stuttered against the bed.

Steve’s cock was slowly filling up for him, getting plumper and plumper under every pass of his palm. He’d seen Harrington naked in the shower plenty of times, seen his cock flushed under the spray of warm water. But he’d never seen him hard, and certainly never hard because of Billy. It was better than every fantasy he’d ever conjured up.

Steve asked him what he was doing again, quieter this time.

Billy propped his chin ontop of Steve’s thigh, his hand smoothing over the length of his hardening cock. God, he wanted to see Harrington hard and filled out for him. Billy thought he might remember that image till the day he died.

“Making you feel good, pretty boy. Seem to like it so far,” he said, giving his cock a squeeze. Steve made a noise in the back of his throat when Billy swiped the pad of his thumb over the head.

Billy’s heart was hammering in his throat, and he was so hard in his jeans he thought he might bust through them. He dragged a knee further up the bed so he could lever his hips down. It wasn’t nearly enough, but then again, this wasn’t really about him.

“You gonna let me take care of you?” said Billy, chin still propped on Steve’s thigh. He rubbed slow circles against the head of his cock through the briefs, feeling it kick up under his touch.

Steve’s hips kept hitching, stuttering into Billy’s palm, but he still had him nice and pinned against the bed with his other hand so he couldn’t get too far. Steve made another noise, frustrated.

“You gonna let me?” he said again, softer.

Steve’s lips parted. He jerked his chin down.  

Billy plucked the waistband of his boxers down down down over his hard length, freeing him from its confines. His cock bobbed free, flushed and hard, slapping against the dark hair of his navel. Billy tucked the hem of his boxers under his balls. They were pink, drawn up against his cock, and fucking irresistible. Billy slid his mouth down, sucking them.

Steve’s breathing picked up. His hips were working hard against Billy’s hand, pushing up against him. Billy moved from his balls to his cock, laving the flat of his tongue along the underside. He licked all the way to the head in one fluid motion.

“Fuck, look at you,” said Billy, popping his mouth off Steve’s cock like he was sucking on a lollie. A tremulous string of spit connected his lips to the swollen head. He lapped it up with his tongue. “Go on. Look,” he said.

Steve grunted, craning his head so he could see down the length of his body to his hard cock poised under Billy’s lips. It gave a kick. They were both still mostly clothed, but Billy wondered if he could blow his load just from this. Jesus, if his old man wasn’t right about one thing - Billy was a great, big faggot.

“God you’re so hard for me, Harrington. Who’d have thought.” Billy ran a finger up Steve’s cock, circled it around the plump, shiny head. A bead of precome welled at the tip. He immediately bent to lap it up with his tongue, swallowing the bitter taste. “Want my mouth, pretty boy?”

Steve’s hips hitched. “Billy…”

Billy snuck his hand away from Steve’s hip, snaking it between his own legs. He pressed against his cock, trapped in his jeans and so fucking hard it hurt. “Ask me real nice,” he said, kissing sloppy over the smooth skin of Steve’s hip. “Ask me nice and I’ll take care of you.”

“ _Billy._ I can’t - I don’t -” Steve’s hands were twisting in the comforter at his sides, so he reached for him, directing his hands to his hair. Steve gripped him hard enough to hurt and that was almost better than the sensation of taking his cock too far into his throat. Almost.

“C’mon Stevie, use your words,” he said.

“Fuck, _please_ Billy.”

Billy thought he might never tire of hearing Steve Harrington say his name. He sank his fingers deeper into Steve’s hips, hoping they’d leave a bruise. “Please what? Please stop Billy?”

Steve whined and his hips surged upward, cock knocking against Billy’s chin. “No, no. Don’t stop,” he breathed. “Please, I want - your mouth. _Please_.”

It wasn’t as good as hearing his name, but it still sounded real pretty. With Steve’s hand in his hair, Billy sank his mouth back on his cock. He took him all the way to the back of his throat, past his initial resistance, so far tears gathered at the corners of his eyes and he could only breathe from his nose.

He encouraged Steve’s hips to move against him, encouraged him to fuck his mouth. Billy rutted against his hand even though it wasn’t enough, and he catalogued each and every one of Steve’s amazing sounds so he could play them later when he was alone. He was so lost in thinking all this he didn’t register Steve’s thighs shuddering under him, or his breath hitching or the hand in his hair clenching too tight, before a wash of salty come flooded his mouth, and he was struggling to swallow every pulse of it.

“Holy shit, holy shit,” Steve panted, quaking through his orgasm. Billy choked on his cock, but he didn’t let off. He sucked Steve through it, eking every last drop of come onto his tongue until Steve was pushing at his head. Even then he kept sucking. His own jeans felt hot and damp, sticky with precome. _Je-sus_. He’d have to take care of that in his car before heading back. Probably it would take one second.

Billy finally pulled away. He scrubbed at his wet mouth with the back of his hand. Steve was breathing heavy beneath him, his shirt tucked up, his cock softening and his jeans pushed halfway down his thighs. Billy noticed a new freckle on his inner thigh he hadn’t seen before and pressed his thumb over it.

Harrington’s eyes were closed, his mouth slack. He reached up and slapped Steve twice on the cheek, hard. His eyes flew open. That was more like it.

“You’re too easy, King Steve,” said Billy, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He adjusted his cock so it wasn't pressing against his fly. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

Steve’s eyebrows drew low over his big eyes, but Billy didn’t catch the rest of his expression because he was too busy stomping back into his boots. When he’d got them laced, he half-turned back to Steve, whose cock was soft now, who hadn’t so much as moved to fix a wrinkle. He was staring at the ceiling.

“Ever get bored with the Hawkins cows, you know where to find me,” said Billy. He tapped Steve’s face again, restraining himself from sinking his fingers into his dark, wild hair. Billy closed the door behind himself. Just the way he’d found it.

 

++

 

Steve was working a double at Scoops Ahoy. He was working a double, repanning fruit punch sherbert, and thinking about Billy Hargrove’s mouth around his dick. He’d been doing that all week, even when he didn’t consciously want to. Spurts of memory hazing through his mind while he was hanging with the kids, or driving, or fucking existing in his everyday life.

Each time he remembered Billy Hargrove’s mouth on him, this writhing knot in his chest coiled tighter. He didn’t want to know what Hargrove looked like on his cock. He didn’t want to remember that he’d liked it. Fuck, he’d come. Billy Hargrove had made him come like he was a kid again.

After the mid-morning rush, Robin pulled him into the back fridge. She lit a joint, puffing smoke and foggy breath up toward the air duct. Steve took a long, grateful drag when she offered it to him. Being high made his mind feel more habitable, like he’d been floating all week and this was the tether dragging him slowly back to himself.

“Lemme ask you something,” said Steve after a buzz started up. He picked at a thread on his shorts.

Robin only lifted an eyebrow at him. She sat across from him on an empty crate. Steve was leaned against a shelf of styrofoam cups.

“You ever, uh, fuck around with a chick before?” He sucked another long drag from the joint just in case she stopped feeling charitable. From the corner of his eye, he watched her face flit from surprised to considering. Her brow remained cocked at him.

“You tryin’ to imagine me fucking around with a chick?” said Robin.

Steve held his hands up in surrender. “You got me.” Then he shrugged, looking anywhere but at her. “No, uh. Call me curious.”

“Mmm,” said Robin. She plucked the joint from him, taking a dainty puff from it. “Just call me curious, huh?”

A long beat of silence fell between them. He held up his hands again. “Okay, okay. Never mind. Forget it.” 

Robin laughed, which made Steve laugh, which made him feel slightly less embarrassed. “Calm your jets, Stevie. You’re being too cute,” she said.

Steve didn’t think he was being too cute at all. He went back to inspecting the unravelling thread on his uniform. “Whatever,” he huffed.

“To answer your question, no,” she said, “I’ve never been with a chick.”

He could have guessed as much. What kind of Hawkins chick would act the way Billy did? No one acted like Billy.

“ _But_. But, but,” said Robin, waving the smouldering joint like a wand

“But?”

“I have _thought_ about it.”

Steve felt his eyebrow rising too. “Yeah?”

She winked. “Sure, Stevie. Everyone deserves a chance with me.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.”

“I mean you like chicks right?” she continued. The joint waving commenced. 

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, so what you like about them?”

He thought about Nancy, a fleeting thought that whispered through him. He’d been getting better about pushing those feelings away. They hardly ever took up his time anymore. Except when they did. “Uh, I don’t know. They always smell nice,” he said. Like strawberry shampoo, if you were Nancy. Like cigarettes and cologne, if you were someone else.

The knot in him lurched.

Robin smiled at him like he was being funny. “Yeah, they smell nice. They’re soft. Got nice tits, right? Pretty, too?”

He nodded. Billy was pretty, he thought. Then didn’t know why he did even if it was true.

“Yeah, I guess,” he mumbled, feeling surly for thinking about Billy again. 

“So that sounds like a lot to like if you ask me. Figure it’s probably normal to like stuff that’s pretty and smells good.”

Billy’s hand had felt so big on his hips, he remembered. Big and strong. But his lips, and his hair where it grazed him were soft. At points, he thought Billy might even be a girl until he opened his mouth. Then he could only be Billy.

Steve considered Robin. She kept looking at him like he was being funny. “I guess,” said Steve. Maybe she had some kind of point.

 

++

 

Around five, Steve got off work and headed to the arcade to pick up Dustin and Will. He pulled into the parking lot of The Palace and immediately spotted the Camaro. It was rumbling at the end of the lot, five spaces away from any other cars. Steve only hesitated a second before pulling up next to it.

Billy sat reclined in his seat, head thrown back against the headrest. The screeching sound of Mötley Crü rattled his windows, and his hand, dangling out the cracked window, strummed along to the music. There were a few cigarette butts littered under his car, so Steve figured he’d been waiting here a while. He rolled his own window down. 

“Hargrove,” he called, “back to babysitting?” He hadn’t seen Billy around in months. Well, until last week. Usually, Susan picked up Max, or he’d drop her off.

Billy’s head rolled toward him. He looked at Steve with an unmoving expression. “Seems that way,” he said. The fingers on the side of his car kept up their steady rhythm.

Steve felt himself frowning. Billy didn't seem pissed the way he usually seemed around Steve. He also didn't seem like the guy who'd called him princess and sucked him off. “Been awhile since I’ve seen you around," he said slowly. 

Billy suddenly smirked like that really tickled him. “I was feelin’ generous today,” he drawled. “But not you, Harrington. Rain or shine, here comes King Steve the nanny.”

Steve shrugged. He was starting to feel really weird sitting out here talking to Billy Hargrove like he was the butt of an inside joke he didn’t know about. It was almost impossible to reconcile this Billy with the one who’d left the bruises on his hips. They were still fading -- but not fast enough.  

“I do what I can to help.” He shrugged again. 

Billy snorted. “Sure you do pretty boy.” And the nickname sounded so much worse coming out of his mouth now. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”   

“Nothin’," he said, flicking his hand up. "Just some people might wonder why you’re hangin’ around a buncha kids. Ain't you graduate a whole year ago now? Barely?" 

Steve felt a different type of knot in his chest. It was the kind of mounting energy that drove him to do things like punch Tommy in the face. To do things like punching Billy. He swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth, and when he spoke, he sounded mostly normal, “You know, you can do a good thing without some ulterior motive. I know that’s, like, some novel concept for you. But it happens from time to time.”

Billy’s grin turned mean. “Oh, Stevie. Nobody does nothin’ for free. You of all people should know that.”  

Steve looked at him long and hard. The bruises on his hip suddenly throbbed. Billy, thought Steve, might have some kind of point too.


	2. 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy and Steve finally have a little chat about That Night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all those who commented and left kudos. Have a chapter to celebrate the S3 trailer drop!

It was one of those rare days Billy didn’t have a whole lot going on, aside from avoiding the old man and carting Max around—but that was about typical. It was even nice out. Susan and Neil were already yapping about something, and Billy figured it was too sunny out to sit around listening to them. He didn’t have to tell Max twice to get in the car. 

They’d been doing this kind of thing more regularly, especially since Susan picked up a couple more hours at the bank. They didn’t really talk, but they weren’t really fighting either.

Billy looked over at her banging up his dashboard with her ratty sneakers. Mumbling around his cigarette, he said, “Hey! Knock that shit off or I’ll leave you on the side of the road.”

She smirked. “Don’t tempt me.” Then, after a moment, "Can we rent a movie?” 

“You got any money to rent a movie?”

“Lucky me, I know someone who does.” She waggled her eyebrows at him like a fucking nerd. 

“C’mon man, you wanna stay inside and watch a movie? It’s nice out! Look—there’s the sun and everything!” Billy pointed at it all dramatic, and Max grinned at him.

“It’s not like I have anyone to go outside with,” she said, face immediately clouding over.

At the next red light, Billy glanced over at her. She had her sneakers back on his dash, and he didn’t even chew her out this time. “Yeah?” He tapped his thumb on the wheel. “Where’re the goonies?”

She rolled her eyes so hard he was afraid they’d get stuck that way. “At _El’s.”_

“At _where?”_

Max shook her head slightly. “Nothing. It’s just this girl—I wasn’t invited or whatever.”

Shit, girls were dumb. Then he thought of Harrington and conceded that maybe boys were dumber. “What about your uh—your _friend_? He there too?” Billy tried to keep his voice normal and thought he mostly succeeded.

“ _Lucas_ ? You can say his name you know.” She rolled her eyes _again_ , maybe even harder. 

“Shut it, I know that. Yeah, what about him?”

Her glower deepened. Billy watched her bite at one of her nails, wondering if he’d accidentally opened himself up to some womanly episode. She scoffed. “Yeah, he’s there too.”

“Well, hey, I bet this Elle chick fuckin’ blows.” Billy parked the Camaro in front of the Fair Mart. He hadn’t specifically been thinking of stopping there, but he needed a new pack of cigs anyways and a 40 if he could manage it—he usually could.

Max kept on pouting. “No,” she spat, “she’s really cool and everyone loves her. _Whatever_.”

He took it back. Girls were way dumber. Sighing, he put the car in park. “Alright, she’s really cool and everyone loves her—you need anything? I’m just gonna grab some smokes.”

She recovered from her glower only slightly, maybe mollified that he’d asked if she wanted anything this time. He usually didn't. “Those little moon cakes!” she said. 

“Man, your Ma’s probably slavin’ away on dinner right now.”

“ _Exactly_! Do you want me to starve Billy?”

He thought about Susan’s dry as sawdust meatloaf. “Fine. The little mooncakes—only if they have ‘em.” He left the car running for her so’s she wouldn’t mug it up with her sweat. 

Unfortunately, his favorite teller wasn’t working, so Billy didn't feel too confident about his ability to weasel out of here with any booze. “Reds and a 40,” he said, reaching for his wallet.

The teller raised a pair of thin, blonde brows. His hair was so light he looked nearly bald. “ID?”

Billy frowned at him. “Look man, I come in here all the time. Always get the same thing. Can we just call it a day?”

"Sure," he said, smile thin. "After you give me your ID.”

Billy stared at him. He guessed even the good Hawkins days couldn’t touch these people. “Whatever, forget the 40. Just the Reds." 

“I’ll take the 40.”

Billy’s hand paused in his back pocket. He turned slowly to look at Harrington. Of course, he was hanging around with one of the nerd squad, the kid with the big mouth and curly hair. Billy wondered if maybe he didn’t love Elle and think she was so cool.

Harrington smirked at him after a couple more seconds of staring. “Or not,” he said.

Billy rolled his eyes and turned back to the teller. “Just the Reds,” he said again.

He tried to ignore them, but it was hard with Harrington right there, shadow hitting his own. From the corner of his eye, he could even see him staring. Felt odd. Usually, Harrington didn’t look at him at all. He wondered if he was looking at Billy and imagining his dick in his mouth. Or if he even remembered that night.

A couple days afterwards, he’d thought about driving by his house and roughing him up—just so he’d know to keep his mouth shut. But even the idea of seeing Harrington again made him feel kind of sick.

He felt kind of sick now.

The door dinged, dragging Harrington's attention away from him. “Hey Mad Max!” said Harrington’s little charge. Billy looked up. Max seemed surprised to see the kid, then happy. He was glad one person was havin’ a good time.

The teller handed over his Reds and Billy shoved a couple bills at him.

“So, no 40?” he said, counting back Billy's change. 

“Go fuck yourself.” When he looked over, Harrington was grinning at him. He stopped looking.

Max and Harrington’s kid were talking about some dragon shit when he went to stand by them. They didn’t even stop talking with him there. “How come you’re not with this Elle chick?” said Billy to the kid.

He stopped talking mid-sentence. “I was at science camp,” he said like Billy was an idiot for not knowing that.

“And I had the pleasure of picking him up,” said Harrington. And fuck him—that bastard was holding a 40.

Billy glowered at him. “You seem to enjoy that pleasure a lot.”

“Max, are you comin’ to the diner later?” Harrington’s kid cut in.

She paused in the middle of shoving a box of moon cakes at Billy. “What’s happening at the diner?” 

“Eating. Duh.”

Billy already knew he was about to get her big eyes on him, so he braced himself. Already had his patented scowl in place. Sure enough, she swung her attention to him.

“Diner sounds better than meatloaf,” she wheedled. 

“Oh, it’s way better,” said Harrington like a piece of shit.

“Not gonna happen, Maxine.” Billy made sure she could see how serious he was.

Her big eyes morphed into a scowl that rivalled his own, and a faint creeping of red started up her neck. “I fucking knew you were gonna say that.  _Whatever_ ,” she spat. “I’ll be in the car.”

Her hair whipped through the air when she spun on her heel. He watched her slam his door shut, twice. In the end, Billy bought the moon cakes.   


 

Max stewed silently beside him on the ride back home. She didn’t even moan about his music or the volume. He kept stealing glances at her to see if she'd moved any, and she never did. Finally, Billy punched the radio until it cut off. “Thank you, Billy, ” he said. “Gee, it was so fuckin’ nice of you to drop everything  and take me out, Billy.”

Max rolled her eyes, shrinking further against the door. “Like you had anything to drop,” she sulked. A spark of anger lit within him. He could be at the quarry now killing a joint with Tommy H. No matter what his old man said about carting her around. He’d take the knock later, sure, but the days of him getting thrown around because of Maxine were numbered. She didn’t seem to appreciate that as much as she should.

“You wanna’ board home? Will that clear your fuckin’ head?” He jerked the wheel and pulled them over to the side of the road. It was past rush hour and they were in a residential area. Hardly any cars passed them.

“It’s _Saturday_ ,” said Max in a snotty voice. She turned her glare on him.

That made him angrier. “Yeah, _and_? Saturday your designated day of the week to act like a total bitch?”

“I don’t get why we couldn’t just go to the diner with everyone else.”

Billy snarled at her. “Are you _really_ bustin’ my balls for that? Were you there when Neil told us to be home for dinner? I’m pretty fucking sure you were there.”

“He told _you_ to be home for dinner,” said Max.

“Don't fucking start with me, man,” he said. He also didn’t think he could handle anymore forced proximity with Harrington right now. Especially if he was going to bop around town in his fancy Bimmer with his fancy hair all windswept.

“You’re such an asshole,” muttered Max.

“What’d you say to me?”

She sank further into the seat, her body hanging halfway off it. “Never mind,” she said.

“No, you got something to say, so say it loud enough for the whole class to hear.” Billy was gripping his steering wheel so tightly his palms ached. He was afraid if he didn’t grip the wheel, he’d do something stupid like grab Max. He was itching to grab her, to shake some sense into her. All this time they’d been living together and she barely had any common sense.

“I said _never_ _mind_. Let’s just go home,” she said.

Billy kept staring at her and she kept staring out the window. He kicked the car into drive and pulled them back onto the street. “You think I’m such an asshole, how come you’re even out right now, huh? Or how come you got that new board? I know Susan sure as shit didn’t buy it for you.”

“You broke the first one!” she said immediately, whipping around in her seat so she faced him.

He gripped the wheel even harder. “ _Jesus_ Christ. Didn’t have to buy you a new one, did I? With my own fucking money too.” He hadn’t needed to. Every day he kept waiting for Max to squeal on him to Neil or Susan about busting her board, kept waiting for his old man to smack him around and lecture him about _respect_ and _responsibility_. But it never happened.

Plus, he had to drive her more when she didn’t have a board.

Max pouted next to him. They were approaching Cherry Street soon.

“What’s so great about the diner anyways? It ain’t goin’ anywhere,” he said.

She shrugged up a shoulder. “Beats being at home,” she said in an oddly small voice. And Billy really couldn’t argue with her about that. His old man and Susan had really been going at it recently, pretty much since the last bill cycle. They were probably still goin’ at it right now. 

Billy made the turn onto Cherry Street. He drummed his fingers on the wheel of his car, saw their little house approaching, then pulled into the nearest driveway to pull a U-turn.

“You must be the least grateful little shit I know, Maxine. Don't say I didn't do nothin' for you.”

Billy ignored Max’s face lighting up like a goddamn beacon. Guess he was gonna have to confront Steve’s fancy windswept hair after all.

 

++

 

The kids were all squished on one side of the booth at Ria’s, ostensibly to plan for the upcoming campaign that weekend. But more realistically to ogle Sandra Nagpal, just returned from camp with a neck full of hickies.

Steve halfway turned to get a look at her. All he could see was just another dorky nerd girl. He rolled his eyes. “Okay, generally speaking, women don’t love it when you stare unblinkingly at them. Just a little tip for you guys.”

Steve tried to steal some of Dustin's fries, and without looking, he smacked his hand away.

“Okay, one, _rude_ Steve. Ask next time. _Two,_  we aren’t staring! We are campaigning!” he said. 

Lucas nodded without looking at them. “Heard some junior gave those to her,” he said.

“I heard it was some guy in college,” said Mike. He pushed around the ketchup on his plate with a cold fry. Then didn’t eat it.

Steve thought about hooking up with a thirteen-year-old and felt kind of sick. “Whatever. Let’s give her a break from the creep brigade, okay?”

“Yeah, she probably feels objectified,” said Will, very quiet from where he was crammed into the far corner of the booth.

Three pairs of eyes swivelled away from Sandra to Will. His owl eyes got even bigger. “ _What_! She probably does,” he squeaked.

The front door dinged open, and because Steve was facing the front and because the kids were facing Sandra Nagpal, he saw Max and Billy first. He immediately felt flustered. And then annoyed that he felt that way. Dustin followed his glare and said, real loud, “Hey look Max made it!”

Then, slightly less loud, “And her Sith Lord brother.”

Billy stopped in front of the table, his hands shoved into the front pockets of his jean jacket. “Hey look, it’s a virgin nerd and his virgin nerd friends.”

“Steve’s not a virgin!” said Dustin like the least helpful person on Earth. And probably the Upside Down too. “And Mike’s like half a virgin.”

“Dustin, shut up!” said Mike quickly.

Billy smirked down at Steve. “Well, that’s news to me pretty boy. Someone finally popped your cherry. Good for you.”

Max bumped Billy out of the way with her hip and slid in beside Steve. Billy glared down at Dustin until he shuffled seats and sat next to Max.

Steve nodded across the table at Billy. He made himself keep his stare. “Thought you couldn't make it. Too busy beating up innocent kids or something.” Or sucking someone’s dick.

Billy’s grin turned wolfish. “Can’t be doing that on an empty stomach, Harrington.”

“Of course you can’t.” Fuck his life.

Max and Billy ordered burgers and shakes, so Steve resigned himself to a never-ending night of purgatory. The kids brought Max up to speed about Sandra’s hickies, which got Mike a good kick in the shin. “That’s objectification shithead!” she said.

Will’s owl eyes got all big again. “That’s what I said.”

Steve stole more of Dustin’s fries and shoved them in his mouth before he could get another smack to the hand. 

“Steve, remember when you said we could go to the drive in? To see The Thing?” wheedled Dustin. “I think you remember.”

“Oh, I remember telling you there was no way in hell I was gonna sit through a whole movie in my car with you.” Steve pointed Dustin’s french fry at him.

“Okay, but what about a car with _me_ , Will, Lucas, and Max?” He darted a look at Billy, who was leaned back in the booth with his arms crossed, a level look on his face. He was staring at Steve and Steve was trying to ignore that. “And uh, Billy. I guess. If he promises not to be a psycho.”

Max slugged him in the arm. “Dude, shut _up_!” she said.

“ _Ow_! Given his history, I think it’s a fair request,” said Dustin, rubbing at his arm.

“Given my history, you should probably stop running your goddamn mouth,” said Billy.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ. If you all promise to shut up right now we can go to the drive-in.”

“ _Alright_!” said Dustin, probably thinking up fifty things to say during the movie already.

Max and Billy were having a mostly silent conversation across the table consisting of hand motions and meaningful glares. Steve watched their expressions ping pong back and forth. He couldn’t tell who was winning. He thought about sitting in his dark car with Billy Hargrove for ninety minutes. Jesus.

Billy suddenly flagged. He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, rubbed at his mouth with his hand. “You better spend the entire movie coming up with your cover story,” he said. Max beamed at him.

Steve didn’t know what that meant but he thought maybe Max had won the argument.

 

++

 

Billy trailed Harrington and the brat pack all the way out to the Hawkins drive-in, one of three owned by the same couple, according to the Henderson kid. Max was in Harrington’s car even though there wasn’t enough room for her, so Billy tried not to think about her sitting all close with Sinclair.

It took a lot longer than it should have to get there because Steve kept pulling off to different gas stations to get the kids snacks. At this rate, Billy was going to be out of smokes before the night was over.

He bought like three boxes at their next stop.

The drive-in was in a large field just past Hawkins proper and just before you really hit the Styx. Billy would know because he’d spent his fair share of driving around aimlessly late at night. He pulled the Camaro off the road behind the Bimmer and parked it slightly a ways off.

Billy cranked his seat back, allowing himself the small indulgence of thinking about Harrington. Didn’t happen a lot with his permission. Usually Harrington just crept his way into his thoughts, went about pissing him off like usual even when he wasn’t there in person.

For the briefest moment, he thought back to the party. Not even the good part, too, when he’d had Steve’s pretty cock all hard for him. He thought about pushing Steve’s shirt up. About drawing little sounds from him with just a touch. He’d said please. Please and _Billy_.

A knock on his window made him jump out of his skin. He knew they were only thoughts, but Billy still felt like he’d been caught with a porno or something when he turned and saw Max pressing her nose against his glass like he hadn’t told her to quit that shit a million times. He rolled the window down and her head bobbed forward without the glass supporting her.

“Told you not to fuck with my glass,” he grumbled.

“Sorry,” she said, not sorry. “Do you have any cash? I wanna get a drink.”

Billy rolled his eyes. “Man, are you kidding me? Didn’t Harrington just buy out every gas station up 42?”

She rolled _her_ eyes. “But they have slurpees!”

“Oh, well, why didn’t you say. Anything for a slurpee.”

She frowned at him and he sighed, long and deep. He’d made her call Susan before leaving the diner, but that meant shit all when you lived under Neil’s roof. She might as well drink a damn slurpee while she was still happy. Wasn't gonna last too much longer. “You’re really pushing your luck tonight, Maxine,” he said. Billy lifted his hips up so he could reach his wallet. He tossed her a few crumpled bills.

“That’s all you get. I ain’t a bank!” he yelled at her retreating back.

The movie started about twenty minutes later, but he didn’t switch his radio to the drive-in station. He dug around for a tape in his console and slipped it into the deck.

Then he dug around some more until he found his flask. It was half full. He took a long swig of it. He’d need to be nice and drunk to show his face at home tonight. Max didn’t really get it, even now, what this was costing him. But he knew Neil Hargrove. Had known him his whole life.

Like he’d said to Harrington, everything had its price. Nobody did nothin’ for free. Truth be told, he couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason he was out here right now, sticking his neck out for a bitch like Max.

They barely even talked day-to-day. The less of her he saw, the easier his life was. But Billy guessed over the past year they’d struck up a kind of working schedule. He was her chauffeur. She was his annoying kid sister. Step-sister, he amended. Give and take. Mostly take. 

If he was being real honest, she kind of reminded him of his Mom, the way her face twisted up when Billy was being a shithead. People were always saying shit like how they could be related they acted so similarly. But Billy didn’t want to think of her that way, so he stopped. He took another long swig from the flask.

Someone knocked on his window again, but it surprised him a lot less now that he had a quiet buzz going. He looked over at Harrington standing outside his car, cigarette perched between his pink lips.

Billy rolled the window down for a second time.

“Hey man, you got a light?” said Harrington around his cigarette. He looked real good basked in the blue light of the movie, his dark eyes looking impossibly big.

“Sure thing,” said Billy, flipping his Zippo open.

When Harrington kept staring at him, Billy said, “Gonna have to move a little closer than that.”

Harrington hesitated, then slowly leaned down, sticking the end of his cigarette into the Zippo’s flickering flame. He leaned back as soon as it was lit.

“Got yourself a little somethin’ to drink after all, Hargrove,” he said, gesturing to the flask.

Billy held it up for him. “I was feelin’ parched.”

Steve bit his lip then rounded the car, sliding in beside him. The door made a heavy clunking noise when it shut. He plucked the flask from Billy and drank from it quickly like he needed to get as much down before Billy took it from him. But Billy was too busy looking at the shine of his lips, quickly swept away with his tongue.

“Looks like you brought enough to share,” said Steve.

“I don’t share too well,” he said but didn’t take the flask back. He wanted to see Harrington with his lips wrapped around it again. Was a pretty sight.

Steve indulged him. His throat bobbed with every sip. Billy held out a hand to him, waiting until he was done. He couldn’t really taste anything beyond the burn of bottom shelf whisky, but he made believe he could taste Steve’s mouth, and that made the sting all the more worth it.

“Bored of the movie already?” said Steve, when they lapsed into silence, only the radio playing between them. They were both faced forward. Harrington had his hand rested on the center console. 

“You tell me,” said Billy, looking at his long fingers tapping along to the song. “Don’t seem too invested, Harrington, if you’re hiding out here.”

“Yeah, well.” Steve shrugged. “The kids started tossing words around like paladin and thesselhydra.”

“Mm, that’ll happen when you spend all your time around a bunch of nerds.”

Steve nearly smiled. He swiped the flask from him again and Billy let it go easily.“You keep raggin’ on me about the kids, but believe it or not they’re better than the alternative.”

“Oh, and what’s that?” said Billy.

Harrington shrugged again, kept on looking out the window. He had the flask poised halfway to his mouth, but he didn’t bring it closer.

Billy took his time looking over the curve of his profile. He spotted a couple of moles he’d missed. He wanted to put his mouth on them while Steve drank from his flask.

The corner of Steve’s mouth lifted when he did look at Billy.

Now it was his turn to look away.“You’re kind of a sad sack, Harrington. You know that?”

“And you’re kinda an asshole.”

Billy held his hands up in surrender. “Not claiming to be anything else, King Steve.”

Steve shook his head, finally taking his sip. Billy watched his throat move again. The freckles moved too.

“What about this?” said Billy. “This better than the alternative?” He lifted his eyes slowly back up Harrington’s face.

 “Scary movies aren’t really my thing,” he said.

Billy laughed. He shook his head a little. “Nah, Harrington. No, _this,_ is this better?” He made sure to brush across Steve’s chest and the back of his hand when he reached for his flask. Steve was body warm, even through his clothes.

Steve looked at him, his eyes glinting at every flash of action on the screen. “I don’t know what you’re asking,” he said slowly.

Billy felt himself frown. Truly, he didn’t know if Harrington remembered the party, but even the thought that Billy had only himself to share the memory with incited a level of embarrassment and anger inside him he hadn’t felt since moving to shithole Hawkins.

He scoffed, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. It tasted like whisky. “Okay—guess I’m just wonderin’ what you’re tryin’ to do here?”

“Uh, what?”

“C’mon Harrington. Help me understand you.” Billy moved his hands as if he was trying to find the right words to say, even if he already knew. They pressed against the inside of his teeth, poison waiting to slip out. “You slide into my car, asking for a light, drinking my shit, and you think what? I’ll just hang with my good buddy Billy Hargrove?”

“What—are you talking about?” Steve looked totally clueless, and that was worse than getting angry.

“Just trying to understand the situation, Harrington.”

“Um, okay. I just thought - I was just -" 

“You were just what? Feelin’ a little hard up around all those kids?” Billy leaned his face into Steve’s shadow. “Thought you’d pay me a visit instead?” he whispered.

Steve’s pretty face contorted in disgust. It almost felt good to have him stare at Billy like that, like he’d really struck a nerve. Like he’d made him think of the other night.

“Jesus man you are such an asshole. You know what. Yeah, I didn’t come here for shit. Go to hell.”

Steve shoved his car door open, and Billy waited until he was fully out to call his name.

He whirled around, all dramatic. “ _What_?”

“You think about what I told you?” he said.

Steve paused. Billy didn’t bother clarifying which thing he was talking about, the offer to do it again if Steve got bored with Hawkins girls. He knew Harrington was thinking it now. Maybe he’d never actually forgotten.

“No, I don’t give a _shit_ about what you have to say,” he snarled.

Billy narrowed his eyes. Shrugged. “All offers expire pretty boy. Remember that.”

His lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.  “You and your offer can go to hell,” said Steve, and he slammed Billy’s car door

 

++

 

Steve dropped the kids off and pulled into his empty driveway around ten. He didn’t go inside until nearly eleven. All the lights were on, the way he’d left them. He pulled together a sandwich on autopilot, cracked open a beer, realized he’d been standing in the same spot like a zombie after catching his reflection in the window above the sink.

He took the sandwich into the den and kept on thinking about Billy Hargrove. Somehow, he’d taken up real estate in Steve’s head, more than he’d ever had before. Maybe sucking a guy’s cock will do that.

Something angry curdled in his chest. Something sick too. And something a little curious, but that was much smaller. He figured it didn’t mean much that he’d shot a load for Billy Hargrove. He’d shot one for much worse.

But he couldn’t figure out why he kept thinking about it, kept dragging the memory up like a fish to the break of water. He thought about Billy sitting across from him at the booth, next to him in the car. It was like his proximity thickened the air. He could physically feel the distance between them.

And God that got him pissed, that Billy forced Steve to consider him at all. Before this shit, he was the guy who beat his face in. The town asshole. He was still that guy, but with an additional footnote he had no business adding.

Steve took another sip of beer. His leg bounced. He felt restless, filled with energy. He felt the way he did before a game. Like he did when he needed badly to get off.

He looked at his thumb resting on the button of his jeans. He was already half hard just from getting all worked up. Billy had asked him what he was doing. Truth was, he didn’t know. He’d kept eyeing the Camaro in his mirror, wanting to see if Billy was eyeing his Bimmer.

He really had needed a light. He really hadn’t needed the whisky. Answers would have been nice. Ones to questions like, _why’d you suck my dick?_ And, _why’d I let you?_

Sometimes Steve thought he didn’t let Billy do anything. That made things easier. Like he’d had no choice, even though he was basically a fully grown man who could have pushed him off any moment.

Jesus. He pulled his zip down, got his fly open, and wrapped a hand around his cock. He thought hard about a nameless girl, some amalgamation of features. He imagined her lips on his cock instead of his fist. He rolled back through memories of him and Nancy, imagined her lips too.

Steve thought through every fantasy he’d ever brought himself off to, his hand moving relentlessly on his cock, just barely stirring his arousal.

He didn’t give himself permission to think about Billy. The thought steamrolled him, pushing the other fantasies aside. He felt sick thinking about him while he was doing this, but it felt good too, the image of his red lips around him. And then he was coming harder than he ever had in his life.

Steve sat on the couch, breathing hard, his cock softening in his hand. He felt nauseous. Then he took one of his Mom’s sleeping pills and didn’t feel much of anything.

 


	3. 3.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy and Steve finally resolve some issues. With words. Among other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! Thanks to all who commented and left kudos. I appreciate them so much! There's some Steve/OFC in here near the middle of the chapter, and if that's not your cup of tea, then feel free to skip. As always, enjoy!

After the night at the drive-in, Steve didn’t see much of Billy. Max told him one afternoon that he’d gotten a job doing lawn care around town so he could pay rent to his old man. Steve didn’t say anything about that. 

He got the feeling Billy’s dad was kind of a hardass. His own dad was a hardass but still - he’d never dream of asking Steve to pay rent. And he’d been slumming it at home for an entire year since graduating.  

Without Billy to put him on edge, summer in Hawkins slogged onwards, filled with Scoops Ahoy shifts, country club brunches, and too many D&D campaigns to count. Anything to get himself out of the house and away from his thoughts. 

Nancy was back from school for the Summer, but Steve didn’t see too much of her either unless he took the kids to the community pool where she was a lifeguard. He figured that was alright, though, not hanging around his ex-girlfriend like some roadie. 

Tommy and Carol were shit and Jonathan was spending the Summer up in New York. 

And that was all the people he knew. Felt like hardly anybody these days. It was crazy to think about all the people he used to hang around. King Steve, Billy called him. 

Even with the kids, he was by himself a lot, sitting in a large house with all the lights on. AC off so he didn’t get too cold. Steve didn’t like feeling cold anymore, though nothing felt colder than those tunnels. Probably, he'd be dead the next time he met a feeling so cold. 

Today was Friday. And warm. He was laying on the couch without a shirt on, clicking through a muted TV, when the phone rang. He let it ring a few times before dragging himself into the kitchen. 

“Hello,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. 

“Steve-o, buddy, what’re you up to today?” said Dustin. 

Steve rolled his eyes, mentally preparing for whatever Dustin was about to ask him. “Not a lot man. What’s up?” 

“Just wanted to run something by you real quick. So picture this: you, me, and the Party….swimming at the quarry,” said Dustin. 

“Oh, you mean me driving you guys to the quarry, sitting in the shade, and chaperoning you from afar? Am I picturing that?” 

“Steve, what you decide to do at the quarry is entirely up to you. But Mike has five blow up rafts and one  _ might _ have your name on it,” said Dustin. 

Steve sighed. Secretly, he’d hoped one of the kids would summon him to babysit. He was doing fuck all here but sweating his balls off and watching the Saturday morning cartoons on mute. 

“Yeah, okay,” he said, “be there in fifteen.” 

  
  


+++

 

 

The kids, he discovered, wanted to go to the quarry because Max and Sandra were there. Apparently, they’d become friends at some point, maybe commiserating over mutual hickies. 

That also meant Billy was there. Steve could see him lounging on a blanket by the water’s edge, Walkman headphones on. Oddly he was wearing a shirt, which he’d never done the few times Steve had seen him at the community pool. 

Dustin clapped him on the back, reminding him to keep walking. He followed the kids silently to a spot both sufficiently close and far away from Billy. They threw their towels onto the gravelly sand, weighed down with tennis shoes, and went about the diligent process of inflating all five of Mike’s rafts—one of which  _ might  _ have his name on it. 

He flipped his sunglasses down, hoping they would keep his wandering eyes covered, and plopped down on his towel. Turns out he didn’t need to worry about anyone noticing his eyes, or his anything, because Billy didn’t turn Steve’s way once. 

All the kids, with the exception of Will Byers, sprinted into the water. Will hung back with Steve. Steve couldn’t imagine how weird it was to be near the place they’d found his body. He still didn’t really know everything that happened to him, and he wasn’t about to ask. 

But he did have beer. 

When he pulled a cold can from the cooler, he offered Will a sip of it, figuring the kid could use a little old fashioned bad influence for once. His little face lit up at the offer. He even kept smiling after the first sip, which made him cringe. 

Steve let him drink most of it. 

Sometime around one Nancy showed up to collect Mike. Apparently they were going out to dinner and he needed to “wash up”. She had a friend with her Steve didn’t recognize. When they stopped by his towel, he sat up and pushed his glasses into his hair. 

“Hey,” said Nancy, then gestured to her friend. “Steve this is Allison. She’s visiting for the weekend from school. Allison, this is Steve Harrington, local cool guy.” 

Allison’s cheek dimpled. She looked real sweet with her short blonde hair and slightly crooked teeth. Steve found them oddly charming. He raised a hand at her. “Local cool guy, Steve. That’s me. Nice to meet you,” he said.

“Likewise,” said Allison. 

Nancy looked between them, smiling. She said, “So, um, after dinner Allison and I were thinking about going to Chad’s party. Did you hear about that?”

He had. He’d been thinking about going, but his track record at parties wasn’t all too great. So he’d also been thinking about sitting it out. “Yeah, might’ve heard something about it.” 

He looked at Allison smiling down at him. In the corner of his eye, he noticed Billy sitting up, looking his way. The hairs on his neck prickled under the attention. _Allison._ Allison was a pretty girl who was smiling at him. It felt like eons had passed and stars had died since that last happened. Since he’d wanted it to. 

“It’d be cool to see you there,” said Nancy.

He deployed his most charming Steve Harrington smile. “I’ll take that into consideration,” he said. 

 

+++

 

Steve showed up to Chad’s around eleven. He parked the Bimmer aways down the street, using the walk up to the house to pull a few leisurely shots from his flask. By the time he got himself inside and into the kitchen, he had a nice buzz going. 

The party was packed with underclassmen. He broke up a group of gossiping sophomores to reach Nancy and Allison, who were stationed by an open glass door leading out to the backyard. Steve plucked an unopened beer from some kid who looked about Dustin’s age and held it out for Allison. 

“Beer?” he said, raising an eyebrow. 

“He comes bearing gifts,” she said, taking it from him. 

“Give me a couple rounds and then you’ll get the jokes,” he said. 

She laughed like he knew she would. He felt like he’d shrugged into a familiar and well-fitted jacket, one he’d only just found again. He barely recognized any of the faces around him, but it was too easy to make believe he was back in school, ruling Hawkins High.

“What other tricks can you do?” said Allison. 

Nancy looked at them, amused. “He’s not half-bad at singing.” 

“Wow, turns out the local cool guy is quite talented,” she said. 

Steve pressed into her personal space, leaning down as if to share a secret. Then he saw Billy Hargrove flash by the door with Tommy H. and Carol. He paused, couldn’t remember what he was going to say. 

“One sec,” he mumbled. “Gonna need something stronger than beer.” 

He spent some time fiddling with a drink, adding splash after splash from his flask until every sip burned his eyes. Nancy caught his attention with a wave and gestured to the other room. He nodded to her, as if to say he’d catch up with them.  

He was leaned against the doorway, glaring through the throng of sophomores, when a hand reached out and plucked the flask from his hand. Steve turned, coming face to face with Tommy and Carol. 

He smacked Steve on the shoulder. “There he is! Our little ice cream man. You like the ice cream biz?” said Tommy, eyes glittering over the rim of his flask. He took four long drafts from it. 

“It’s my passion, let me tell you,” said Steve. 

“You know, school’s not for everyone,” said Carol, smirking at him. That got a good laugh from Tommy. 

But Steve barely heard her. The line waiting for the downstairs bathroom broke up at the sudden opening of the door. Billy Hargrove and a girl Steve didn’t recognize stumbled out of it, locked at the lips. She pushed him against the wall, then yanked him down by the hair into a to kiss. Over her head, their eyes caught. And held. 

The blue of Billy’s eyes was swallowed by the dim light. They almost seemed black. 

“Stevie, Stevie. Check out of that big brain already?” said Tommy. Steve jerked back from his waving hand, and even two unsteady steps had his head swimming. 

When he blinked over at her, Carol looked contemplative. “Think he just noticed Billy’s newest fan. That sophomore who suddenly grew a pair of tits.” She leaned closer to him Steve. The smell of her hairspray mingled with the beer on her breath. “If you ask nice, he might share.” 

“He doesn’t share,” said Steve. He swiped the flask back from Tommy with more force than necessary, and pushed his way back through the crowd. Suddenly, Steve didn’t feel like smiling at pretty girls. He felt like going home and falling asleep. He felt like waking up tomorrow afternoon to a bedroom full of lights. 

He worked his way through the pulsing crowd to a sparse corner near an old armchair. It creaked under his weight. Steve guzzled back the remnants of his drink, trying not to linger on any blonde heads in the crowd. 

At the soft touch of fingers on his elbow, he jumped. Nearly spilled the rest of his drink whipping around. Allison rested a placating hand on his shoulder. “Woah, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she said. 

“No, you’re good. Thought you might be someone else.” 

He could tell that was the wrong thing to say but didn’t want to clarify that he’d meant his psychotic nemesis turned queer experiment. It was a mouthful, even for him. 

To sooth the awkward blip, Steve said, “So, um, you enjoying Hawkins so far?” 

Her face evened out. She moved her hand from his shoulder to his forearm. “Some parts of it,” she said. “Hey, it's pretty loud. Wanna find somewhere more quiet to talk?” 

Steve knew they weren’t going to do any talking. He’d said the same line to countless girls, and they never talked. Some things, to his relief, remained exactly the same. Allison pushed him into an empty bedroom. She was surprisingly dominant for how sweet she looked. He liked that. 

She wasted no time getting him on the bed, climbing on top of him. Her breasts were full, pushing into his chest. He moved her back so he could cup them. 

She made breathy little sounds when he thumbed at her nipples. The whisky was working its way through his system. His mind was still fogged over, buzzing, but he could feel the lower half of his face again. Could feel the impending storm of a headache. 

He leaned up to kiss her. They made out for what seemed like ages. She’d stripped out of her shirt, now only in a little skirt. After some awkward fumbling with his belt, they both managed to get his cock free. She gave him a couple dry pumps with her hand. It wasn’t enough pressure, so Steve put his hand on top of hers, showing her how he liked it.

“I’ve never done this before,” she breathed against his neck. 

“Shit, really?” said Steve. 

“Not with someone I just met.” 

He hummed. Her hand on him started to chafe, so he moved her up his body, back over his hips. Hands resting at her waist, he said, “Is this okay?” 

She ground herself against him. Steve could feel how wet she was even through her panties. “Yes, yeah,” she said. Allison bent a knee up, kicking her underwear off. And then she was sitting on him, skirt tucked up to her waist, tits bouncing. Steve groaned when he was fully inside her. 

She did most of the work. Steve leaned back against the pillows, his hands still resting on her waist. With her head bent forward, he couldn’t see her face. Just a curtain of blonde hair and the pale caps of her shoulders. She could almost be someone else. 

His cock gave a kick inside her and panic surged in his chest. 

“Woah, what’s wrong,” said Allison. Steve blinked up at her. He realized he was pushing against her shoulders. 

“Um. Shit, I’m really sorry. Think I’m gonna be sick,” said Steve. 

Allison frowned at him and quickly clambered off. He pulled his jeans on, leaving the belt undone, and bolted from the room. He passed Nancy on his way out and barely looked at her, shouldering his way through people to the front door. It was a relief to finally be outside. The cool summer air hit his cheeks and he felt winded, like he’d run a race. 

Steve stumbled towards his car in a daze. He barely caught sight of the blue Camaro, just a flash of color at the corner of his eye. But, shit, maybe he was trained to look out for these things now, because he stopped. Billy was leaning against his car door, smoking. He hadn’t even seen Steve yet. Before he could consult his brain, he pushed into Billy’s space, shoving him roughly against the Camaro’s door. 

“What the fuck, Harrington,” said Billy, looking startled. Then he started looking pissed. He flicked his cigarette away, and Steve figured he probably had less than a second to get this out before he got a fist to the face. 

“We need to talk.” 

Billy shoved him hard. Steve nearly fell over but managed to catch his balance. “We don’t need to do  _ shit _ ,” he snarled. 

“No, we  _ really _ do. Because, man, I need answers. Like, why’d you  _ do _ that?” he said, voice cracking. “I just—I need to know, Hargrove. What the fuck  _ was _ that?” Steve felt crazy. He needed Billy to tell him so he could get him out of his head and return to the semi-normal, mostly-functioning person he’d been all year. 

“What are you fucking talking about Harrington?” said Billy. “Really not in the mood for your shit tonight, man.” 

Steve crowded back into his space. “Don’t bullshit me. You told me nobody does nothin’ for free. That’s your little motto right. So tell me, why’d  _ you _ do it?” 

Billy’s eyes were hard and intense. He had him pinned inside the scope of his pupils. Steve kind of braced himself for a punch. But then Billy laughed, loud and gleeful. “Can you even tell me what I did? Can you even say it?” he said. 

Steve licked his lips. “C’mon man. Just tell me.” 

“No, tell  _ me _ King Steve. What’d I do? Got a long rap sheet. You’re gonna have to be specific.” 

He wondered if this is what desperation felt like. Like you didn't know what you were going to do. What you _could_ do. “Your offer, man. Told me if the cows of Hawkins weren’t doing it for me, I should come to you. Why’d you do that?” 

Billy looked strange under the lone streetlight, the shadows of his face made deeper. “They stop doing it for you?” he said, gaze dropping down Steve’s neck. He wondered if Allison had left a mark on him. 

“I—just need to know why you did it,” he begged. 

“You thinking about taking up my little offer?” 

_ No. Yes. I can’t get off to anything else anymore. _ He thought all of this and said none of it. 

Billy pushed away from his car, pushed closer to Steve. They were standing toe to toe. Steve was a little taller than Billy, but right now he felt small, like Billy was looking down at him. “Tough shit, Harrington. It’s off the table. So, crawl back to your bitch. All mouths feel the same in the dark.”

Steve put a hand up to push Billy away, to get some space, but Billy caught him by the wrist. He felt his bones grind together under his hold. They were both breathing hard, exchanging a continuous stream of air.

“I keep thinking about it, man,” Steve whispered. “Can’t think about anything else. I need to get it out of my head.”  

Billy’s eyes narrowed. “You asking for something right now?”

“Um.”

“ _Harrington._ ” Billy squeezed his wrist to get his attention. His vision was starting to go hazy at the corners, the way it did when he woke up after a nightmare. “I’m not hearing a question here. Use your words, pretty boy.”

It’s what Billy had said in his car. The answer was the same then as now.

“I just. I  _ can’t _ think about this shit anymore,” said Steve.

Billy pulled him closer until their noses were nearly touching. He could feel Billy’s breath ghosting across his lips. “What am I supposed to do about that, Harrington? Got any ideas?”

Jesus. Steve swallowed, closed his eyes.

Billy’s free hand snaked between them and cupped his cock. He jumped at the sudden contact. He was hard under his palm. God, why was he hard? “Looks like you might,” said Billy. “Is that it? Wanna get it out of your system?” 

Steve’s hips hitched a little into his hand. “God,” he breathed. “Um. I don’t…” 

Billy squeezed him. “Gonna have to hear it pretty boy. What do you want me to do here?” 

“Your mouth,” Steve breathed, pushing the words out so fast they sounded nearly unintelligible. “Been thinking about your mouth on me.” 

Billy bit at his lip, rubbed his thumb lightly over the head of Steve’s cock. He appraised him like a bitch for sale. And then he yanked open the back door of the Camaro, pushing Steve into it.

 

+++

 

The Camaro was good for a lot of things. Getting girls. Racing. Looking generally badass. But Billy had to admit it wasn’t his first choice for a fuck. He’d fucked enough people in here to know that. But he had Harrington in here right now and he might not get to have Harrington again, so he’d take what he could get. 

Steve looked up at him like a frightened rabbit and that turned his stomach a little. So he flipped him over, found his belt already undone, and yanked his pants down. “Did you make her come?” said Billy, because he’d watched Harrington and his little bird all night, and he found it hard to believe a girl like her would even take off her bra. 

“Mmm?” said Steve, swaying into Billy’s hand on his cock. It was long and hard, surging against his palm. Billy wanted to get him in his mouth. But he had other ideas. 

“Your girl. She come on your cock Harrington?” he said, giving him a squeeze. 

Steve breathed out something that sounded like a laugh. “We uh—didn’t finish.” 

Jesus, he liked that. Steve said he’d been thinking about him. Said he couldn’t think about anything else. Maybe, he liked that too much. 

Billy pushed at Steve’s shoulders until he was braced on his elbows, his ass high and pretty in the air. Presented like that, Billy couldn’t help himself. He ran a hand down Steve’s back, over his cheeks. When he started to pull away from the touch, Billy kept him in place with a hand on his hip. 

“Wanted me to help you out, right Harrington?” said Billy. 

Steve made a small noise when Billy ran his hand over a cheek again. He teased a knuckle down his cheeks. “Right?” he prompted. 

“Yeah.  _ Yes _ ,” said Steve. 

“Gonna take care of you, pretty boy. So relax for me.” Steve’s skin was pale and soft. He replaced the hands on his cheeks with his lips, touching light, fluttering kisses across his lower back. Goosebumps erupted along his skin. 

Billy snaked a hand around his hip, up his chest. He found his nipples hard and pebbled, rolled them between his fingers. “Jesus,” said Harrington, breathing hard through his nose. 

Billy tugged at the hem of his shirt. “Take this off,” he said.

Steve didn’t hesitate to strip out of it, tossing it somewhere up front. His skin looked blue in the moonlight. More freckles and beauty marks dotted his back and Billy wanted to get his mouth on all of them, so he did.

He mapped a trail of open-mouthed kisses down Steve’s spine until he reached the small dimples in his lower back. Billy slid his hand away from Steve’s cock and pressed two thumbs into the small divots. He took a moment to memorize everything about the image in front of him. Steve Harrington, shuddering beneath his hands and so hard he was leaking. 

Billy suddenly felt like his heart was beating too fast in his chest. His hands had a small tremor to them, so he pressed them into Steve’s skin, one hand on each cheek. He parted him with careful thumbs until he was fully exposed, pink little hole fluttering under his gaze. 

“What are you—” Steve looked over his shoulder at him. “Wait, Hargrove,” he said. Billy pressed a thumb against his hole to shut him up. 

“Shh. Don’t worry, pretty boy. You’ll like this. Trust me.” 

“What are you doing?” said Steve, still looking at him over his shoulder. 

Billy flashed his teeth at him. Instead of answering, he leaned down, rubbed at his hole again to feel him squirm, then pressed his tongue against the delicate skin. Steve let out a loud, surprised sound. Billy anticipated him trying to pull away. He already had a hand on his hip to pull him back. 

“It’s alright. I got you, Harrington. Gonna take care of you,” he mumbled into Steve’s skin. He gave him a few more coaxing licks until he gradually leaned into his hands and tongue. Steve tasted like musk and a little like salt and Billy couldn’t get enough of it. He lapped at his rim until he was wet like a pussy, until Billy could feel his own spit running down his chin. 

Steve made the prettiest noises for him. When he pointed his tongue, pressing it into his hole, his whole body shuddered. “Jesus, fuck. Billy,” said Steve. 

His name on Harrington’s lips went straight to his cock. Billy hummed, took the hand at his hip away and pressed it against himself. His cock was painfully hard, throbbing against his leg. Steve was making too much noise to notice the tell-tale sound of him pulling the zip of his pants down. At the relieved pressure, his cock bobbed free. 

He fucked his tongue into Steve, working him open the way he might if he was getting him ready for his cock. Jesus, that did things for him. Billy couldn’t help himself. He wrapped a tight fist around his cock, pumping it until he felt the prick of orgasm start in his lower back. His thighs were shaking. He put his hand back on Steve’s amazing ass. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” said Harrington, his hand working over his own cock. Under Billy’s tongue, his hole fluttered, like he was going to come. Billy really wanted to see Harrington come. Wanted to know he’d made him do it. 

He sucked at Steve’s swollen rim, pushed spit into his hole and sucked it out again. “Billy, fuck, that’s gonna—I’m gonna come. Shit, I’m gonna come.” Steve’s hand over his cock stilled, his muscles pulling tight. Then he spasmed, shooting ropes and ropes of come over Billy’s upholstery. He thought it was a shame he’d have to clean that up later.  

“Jesus fuck Harrington.” Billy fumbled to get his hand back on his cock, but he barely touched himself before he was coming too, painting the backs of Steve’s thighs. It felt like he came for ages. 

Steve was shaking under his hands. Billy realized he didn’t feel too steady either. He gave himself one second to pull it together, then put his cock away and put some space between them. There wasn’t a lot he could get, but they weren’t touching anymore. Billy pulled out a cigarette from his back pocket, fumbled to light it up. Harrington was still heaving, braced on his elbows. 

The backs of his thighs shone with Billy’s come. He couldn’t stop looking at it. 

Eventually, Harrington peered at him over his shoulder. His eyes were hooded, glazed over. “Jesus Christ,” he said. “Didn’t even know you could do that to someone.” 

Billy grinned at him, amused. “Probably a lot you don’t know Harrington.” 

They kept eyeing each other, and he felt tenser by the second. Harrington wasn’t nearly as drunk as he’d been the last time. He barely looked drunk at all. Billy knew having a guy suck you off in the dark and having a guy come on your thighs with his tongue in your ass were entirely different things. 

He was waiting for the shoe to drop. 

Harrington looked away first. He touched a hand to his thighs, smearing Billy’s come, then groped around for his shirt. Billy reached into the front seat of the car to grab it. He tossed it to him. 

“Um. Thanks,” said Harrington, attempting to clean himself up without making eye contact with Billy. That suited him just fine. He put his hands behind his head, puffing smoke into the cabin. He’d have to open a window soon. 

“So, um. That, that was. Um—are you hungry?” said Steve. He’d pulled his clothes back together and now sat beside Billy, as far away from him as the car would allow. 

Billy snorted. “Get the fuck outta my car, King Steve. I need to get going.” 

“Oh,” said Steve. He looked disappointed and that irritated Billy, that Steve felt the need to make this something other than it was. Like Billy was some girl who needed a soft touch after getting fucked so she wouldn’t feel like a slut. 

When Steve didn’t make any immediate moves to leave, Billy reached across him and pushed the door open. It swung outward, clanging back on its hinges. Steve bit at his thumb. 

“Okay, yeah,” he said, snapping out of his stupor. “Guess I’ll catch you later, man.” Steve slid out of the car and darted a look at Billy over his shoulder, quick like he didn’t think Billy would catch him doing it, then walked off down the street. 

When he was reasonably certain Steve was gone, Billy released a shuddering breath.


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who commented! I honestly love reading everyone’s thoughts and feedbacks. It makes this whole process that much more rewarding. Enjoy the chapter and comment and leave a kudo if you feel like it!

Steve could barely face Robin during his next shift. She asked how his night went, then didn’t mention it again after taking one look at his face. She didn’t have any magical joints for him today, but when she told him she’d cover an extra fifteen minutes on his break, Steve wasn’t about to tell her no. 

The week was only two days deep and he already felt like he’d lived about a hundred years since Saturday. That didn’t stop him from going around like a diligent babysitter, taking the kids to the arcade, picking them up from the arcade, or enduring hours of D&D. 

Of course he didn’t see Billy anywhere. Figured. Steve thought he should be a fucking professional escape artist, disappearing all the time. That didn’t stop Steve feeling some kind of way every time he saw Susan’s faded wrangler bumble down the street, though. And if it wasn’t Susan picking up Max, she boarded home. 

Honestly, it pissed him the fuck off. Maybe it took him a minute to figure that out, but it did. Billy was a coward. Or worse, Steve thought, maybe Billy was just Billy. And Steve, like usual, was bullshit. Just a passing face in the crowd that Billy had been bored enough to fuck with. 

The more he thought about it, the more sure he was that was the answer. Maybe that was why he felt so geared up about it—more geared up even than when he thought about hooking up with a guy. 

He wondered if this was how girls felt when he’d fuck around with them and conveniently get too busy to call the next day. Just another face in the crowd, he thought. 

Sometimes, very rarely, he missed having the face of a King. 

On Thursday, he joined the kids at the Byers for dinner. It was one of those rare occasions El was allowed out so Joyce made a bunch of moderately edible food and invited everyone over.

Steve tried to enjoy himself and not mope. He even took a helping of brussel sprouts in solidarity with El, who had to eat those before she could eat any Eggos. Across from him, Max and Lucas were giggling together. He frowned at them over his forkful of sweet potatoes. “Susan picking you up tonight or do you need a ride?” he asked Max. 

She shuffled her peas around on her plate. “Hopper actually said he could bring me home.” She glanced up at Hop, who nodded once at her. 

“I could take you if you want,” said Steve, trying to sound casual. 

“Um.” Max looked kind of uncomfortable. Steve had the wild thought that she knew about him and Billy, but then he thought Billy would probably kill himself before telling Max his business, especially business like that. 

“Steve can bring Max,” said El, taking a dainty bite of a brussel sprout all officious. Her tone brooked no argument. Steve darted a look at her, smiling when she smiled softly at him. 

“That work for you?” said Hop to Max. 

She shrugged. “Sure, that’s fine.” 

Steve finally ate his cold forkful of sweet potatoes, feeling marginally better. He wouldn’t get to see Billy, but it was better than nothing. 

  
  
  


Max directed him even though he knew the way. Like usual, she instructed him to park on the opposite side of the street and cut the headlights so he didn’t draw the attention of Billy’s dad. Steve looked up at the dark house, the only light from it a blue flicker from the living room window. 

The Camaro was notably absent in the driveway. “Billy not home?” he said, like some stupid chick. 

Max pulled a face at him. “Uh, do you see his car?” 

Jesus, they were alike sometimes. 

“Haven’t seen him around. He owes me a couple rides.” 

“Yeah good luck with that,” said Max, rolling her eyes. “He’s on some date tonight. At least looked like he was getting ready for one.” 

And okay. Interesting. Steve hummed. Billy was on a date. Billy, who a few days ago had shoved a tongue in Steve’s ass, was now on a date. It was already ten; way past dinner. Steve wondered if he was with a boy or a girl, and if he was fucking them right now. 

“Um. Steve,” said Max, pulling at the car door. It was locked. 

“Shit, yeah. Sorry. Zoned out for a second.” He popped the lock for her but she didn’t get out immediately. He felt her staring at him.

“Are, um, you okay? You’ve been acting kinda weird tonight.” 

He suddenly felt like laughing. Christ, if only she knew. “Yeah, kid,” he forced out. “I’m good. Tell, uh, tell Billy I hope his date went well.” 

She stared at him some more before finally opening the door. “Sure thing,” said Max. Like a good babysitter, Steve waited until she was safely inside before driving off. 

  
  
  


The next day, Steve’s parents flew in from Philadelphia. Dad insisted they get their money’s worth out of the country club, so they went there for dinner. When he told Steve to wear his dress shirt, he knew a talk was coming his way. 

Dinner was about what he expected; Mom ordered an entire bottle of wine to herself and Dad forgot the name of Scoops Ahoy three times. Steve was glad to see some things never changed. 

“I actually wanted to talk to you, son,” said Dad after Steve pushed his plate of half-eaten steak away. 

“Paul,” said Mom, over the rim of her third glass. Her long red nails glinted on its stem. “Let the boy enjoy his dinner.” 

Steve inspected his hand resting on the stem of his own wine glass. He’d barely drank any of it but now seemed like the perfect opportunity to shotgun the rest. 

“The boy’s finished his dinner Moira,” Dad said. “Steve, your Mother and I ran into an old friend of ours from school at the airport.” 

“You met him once dear, but of course you wouldn’t remember. You were a toddler,” said Mom, putting a cold hand briefly on top of his. 

“Anyway, we got to talking and he’s a very active Northwestern Alumna. I mentioned you and he seemed very keen to make an introduction. Have you figured out who you want your references to be yet?” said Dad. 

There it was. Steve bit his lip. He’d been pushing this conversation aside all summer. All year, truly, since he’d graduated. It always lead to a fight anyways; Dad telling him community college was wasted on the Harrington name or some shit.

Like Steve could do better. 

“Uh, not really,” he said, knocking back the rest of his wine. 

“Well you have your Father of course,” said Mom. 

“You’ll need two more. Danny gave me his card and said to call. You’ll take care of that this weekend?” said Dad. They both knew he wasn’t really asking him. 

“Yep,” said Steve, pouring himself another glass. “Sure will.” 

  
  
  


Mom and Dad ‘retired’ for the night, which just meant they were drinking alone in different bedrooms. Steve chucked off his button down almost immediately. A sheen of sweat pricked along his back, and it attracted the material to his skin. 

He paced around his room, slacks still on, shirtless, glaring at the fucking Rolodex of contacts his Dad had given him after graduation. A carousel of jackasses just like him, waiting to see what kinda jackass Steve would turn out to be. 

He kept looking at the Rolodex, then fumbled to get the business card his Dad had slipped him out of his pocket. It kept getting caught. When he finally wrestled it free, he tore it in half, then fourths, throwing the pieces on his desk. 

Fuck, he felt too small for his skin. Part of him wanted to march into his Dad’s den and tell him he’d let Billy Hargrove—yeah, Neil’s son, you know the kid—suck his cock. And he’d fucking liked it. 

How’s that for the Harrington name. 

He ran his hands through his hair until he’d disrupted all the hairspray and it was sticking up everywhere. He was still pacing, he realized. A soft electric crackle had caught his attention. That was the only reason he’d stopped. 

Steve stared dumbly at the big stupid radio Dustin had given to him earlier last year. He almost never had it on. But he guessed he’d been extra lame lately, like some kind of personal butler, dedicating his sad life to driving the kids around. 

He guessed he wanted them to be able contact him whenever. 

“Steve, it’s Dustin. You there buddy?  _ Over _ .” 

He snatched the radio up. “Hey, man. What’s up?” 

Immediately, Dustin snapped, “Steve, we’ve been through this. You gotta say  _ over _ when you sign off.” 

“Dustin, what do you want?  _ Over _ .” He jabbed the button with his finger pretty hard. 

Maybe he’d sounded like an asshole because Dustin took a second to answer. He almost fucking apologized. “How do you feel about the arcade Steve-o?  _ Over _ .”

Steve sighed, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed. “What, like generally?” 

“No dumbass. Like you bringing us. Tonight. In your car.  _ Over _ .” That was Mike Wheeler. 

“Okay, is everyone like, listening in on this? That’s totally creepy, you know that right? Like that doesn’t make me want to bring you to the arcade.” 

“Not  _ everyone _ ,” said Lucas. “ _ Over _ .” 

“Yeah, like El can’t hear us right now. Probably.” Dustin sounded thoughtful. 

“Probably,” agreed Lucas and Mike at the same time. 

Steve sat down heavily in his desk chair, pushing it back onto two legs. “Alright shitheads, you wanna go to the arcade?” 

“Yes!” agreed Lucas and Mike and Dustin. 

Steve was about to answer, but the line crackled again, and Max’s breathless voice came over the line. “Did he say yes?” 

“He said yes,” said Steve, rolling his eyes. 

“Awesome, I just need—“ Max suddenly cut off. 

“Why the fuck am I hearing Steve Harrington’s voice?” 

That was Billy. Faint in the background but unmistakable. Max said something back to him he couldn’t hear, then more static. When the walkie beeped again, Billy was speaking, his voice close and clear. 

“What the fuck are you calling about Max for, Harrington?”

“Um.” Steve felt dumb even just hearing Billy’s voice again. A brief flash of Billy shirtless, pushing a lawnmower, hazed through his mind. He’d seen him earlier today. Had almost stopped, and ultimately hadn’t. For this exact fucking reason. 

“Harrington?” Billy said, sounding more annoyed. 

“Yeah, um,” he coughed into the walkie, “the kids called—radioed, whatever—about goin’ to the arcade.” 

“Fucking hell,” Billy mumbled, but it didn’t sound directed at him. He heard the sounds of Max and Billy talking in the background again, then Billy came back on. “So you’re taking them?” 

Steve let the chair clang back down onto the carpet. “Seems like it,” he said. 

“Guess I’ll drop the brat off,” he said, sounding surly about it.

“I got room, man. It’s no problem.” Jesus, he wanted to kick himself the moment he said it. 

Billy paused. “Don’t wanna make you drive out here just for Maxine.” 

He almost fucking told him not to worry about it again, but he caught himself at the last second. 

“Yeah, okay sounds good,” he said carefully. And like a fucking idiot, he was already thinking about what he’d wear. If he even saw Billy. You could drop someone off without even stepping foot out the car. Steve hated the way he was suddenly anxious to go to the arcade. It was so fucking stupid. 

But Billy didn’t say anything else. The line clicked off, and Steve said, to the dead space, “See you guys then.” 

After another moment of dead air, Dustin clicked back on. “ _ Over _ Steve. You gotta say  _ over _ .” 

 

+++

 

At five that morning, Billy went for a run. It was Friday, nearly a whole week after the party, and still dark outside. He didn’t have any jobs until noon, which gave him plenty of time to run off his steam. Again. 

He almost laughed at the irony. Finally Billy was acting the way he should, rising before the sun, kicking off a productive day—and all because he’d been going around acting like a big faggot again. 

He came up a hill and stopped by a light, hands braced on his knees. Of course he was at an intersection with Loch Nora. Of course. Fucking small towns with their four fucking streets. Okay, five, he amended. He didn’t figure Harrington to be an early riser, but then again, he looked like he almost never slept these days. It would be just Billy’s luck to run by Harrington’s house on a day he was up with the birds. 

Billy turned in the other direction and headed home. 

Running helped a little. So did weightlifting and fucking with his car, and usually, he’d add jacking off to that list, but not so much lately. If his brain was full of rushing blood, then he wasn’t thinking about Harrington looking all disappointed when Billy kicked him out of his car. He wasn’t getting hard in the shower just entertaining the thought about having him under his tongue. 

Truly, Billy had a hard time believing he’d even got to taste Harrington at all. Dredged up outside the moment, those memories seemed like they belonged to someone else. Or worse, they seemed like he’d made them up. 

Billy had always known he was a faggot. He knew it before his Dad even knew it, but there was a difference between being a queer and acting like a queer. Getting all hard up over when he’d see Steve again, that was acting like a queer. 

He made himself sprint the last half-mile back to his house and nearly collapsed against the kitchen counter when he dragged himself inside. Max sat at the breakfast table, looking glum as she pushed around a plate of overdone eggs. He walked past her to the sink, sticking his mouth under the faucet. 

“Billy!” he heard Susan say behind him. “You know, there are these things called cups. You might have seen one or two in the cabinet.” 

He pulled back when he had to breathe, wiping a hand over his dripping chin. Billy smiled at her. He was still buzzing with the endorphins from his run. “I’ll keep that in mind, Suzy.” 

Max made a face at him. “Was that you making all that noise at the asscrack of dawn?” 

“Language,” said Susan without looking up from her place in the paper. She was leaning against the opposite counter from Billy, sipping leisurely from a mug of coffee. He wondered whether his old man was sleeping in or if he’d already left. It was nearly eight by now. Late by Neil Hargrove’s standards. 

“Felt like goin’ for a run,” said Billy.

“At  _ five  _ in the morning?” said Max. 

“Nobody’s awake to ask me dumb questions at five in the morning.”

“What kind of insane person gets up that early just to run?” said Max, asking him more dumb questions. 

“Hm, how about you and me go tomorrow so’s you can find out? I’ll wake you up at 4:50 sharp,” said Billy, laughing when she slugged him in the arm.

“ _Ew_ Billy! What is _wrong_ with you?” 

She kept hitting him and he kept blocking her. “You see this shit Suze? She’s outta control,” he said, batting away another hit at his shoulder. The endorphins were still working their way through him and Billy guessed he felt alright. Better than he had in days. He wasn’t even feeling like a queer. 

Susan indulged them with an amused smile. “Max, I think he’s learned his lesson,” she said. 

“Yeah, shit, I won’t ever mention a time before 10 AM in your presence again,” Billy griped. Max stopped hitting him finally. She even pushed her half-eaten plate of eggs his way after he picked at a piece with his fingers. They were cold, and overdone, but he was starving. 

“What’s your schedule today, Bill?” said Susan after he’d inhaled the rest of the eggs. He was feeling so good he didn’t even say anything about her callin’ him Bill. 

“Um,” he said around a mouthful. Max made a disgusted face at him. “Got work at noon. Should be done sometime around six, I think.” 

Susan looked nervous suddenly. “So you’ll be here tonight?” 

Billy looked at her looking nervous. He immediately got this sinking feeling. “Yeah—why?” 

“Well, Neil, it’s just, he got us tickets to a show in the city. I told him I didn’t mind driving back late, but he thinks we should spend the night to be safe,” she said, wringing her hands around her mug. 

Max looked immediately ticked off. Even her little nostrils were flaring. Billy hoped she knew better by now than to go off on Susan when Neil might be in the house. “Uh, yeah. Sure. I should be here,” he said slowly.

Apparently she didn’t know nothin’. “Oh so you’re going on a  _ date _ ?” sneered Max. 

Susan’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Well, he  _ is _ my husband.” 

Billy could see the fireworks starting. Her face turned flush red and everything, like she’d forgotten how to breathe. “Do you even _ remembe _ r what he did to Billy a couple weeks ago? He had to wear real shirts and everything!” she said. 

“Jesus, can it Max,” said Billy. 

Susan’s face went white. Maybe she was remembering the work Neil had done on him for missing family dinner to fight with Harrington at the drive-in. He figured that was why Max was making a scene now, because she felt guilty or something for asking him to chaperone her. 

“ _ Yes _ I remember. Jesus, Maxine. We, we talked about it! Neil and I, we had a long talk. He didn’t come home that night, do you remember?” 

“Oh I’m so glad you guys had a nice little talk after Billy got the  _ shit _ beat out of him!” screamed Max. 

“ _ Don’t  _ you talk to me that way! I am your mother. And you—you do not get to talk to me like that.” Susan was screaming now too, but in a trembly voice that sounded like it could break at any minute. 

Billy sighed. He felt really uncomfortable watching them argue about him like he wasn’t here. “Would you cool it?” he said to Max.  

She reared on him, even redder in the face, “How can you just sit there—”

“ _ Maxine,”  _ he said. “Jesus, cut your shit, okay? It’s fine. Everybody just drop it. I need to take a fuckin’ shower anyways.” He scraped his chair back from the table, dumped the empty plate into the sink harder than necessary, and stalked away to shower even though he’d just get sweaty again on the job. 

 

Billy worked for an independent landscaping company owned by a man named Ted Bueller and his wife Mary. Ted’s sons used to work the summers with him until they got hitched and moved up coast to Maine. Then Billy came along and he could push a lawn mower alright and prune hedges and edge sidewalks too. He already did all that shit at home. 

Plus Ted paid him in cash and his wife gave him lemonade whenever they stopped by the house on their route. It was alright work. He made enough money to get his old man off his back and with extra to spare. He only needed to make it to the end of the summer. 

That was Billy’s chant. Make it to basic, then he’d fuck off who knows where. His old man couldn’t even stick his nose up at Billy joining the military. Afterall, he was a military man himself. 

Ted and him finished up their work a little later than he’d expected but he still made it home in time to shower off the grime and wait around for Susan and Neil to leave for their little date. 

Max sulked next to him on the couch. She had MTV on but barely watched it, glaring at her mom’s bedroom with a massive stink eye. Billy didn’t feel like fighting with her over MTV tonight. The rest of the day had been draining enough. If things went his way, Neil and Susan would leave, he’d drop Max at the arcade, and then he’d finally be able to smoke some weed and jack off in peace. Billy figured he’d earned about that much. 

Susan came out first, fluffing her hair. She wore a long burgundy dress with cap sleeves and shiny shell buttons all down its front. He thought she looked a little bit like a character from  _ Little House on the Prairie, _ but he guessed this was her going out dress. He told her she looked nice and she smiled prettily at him. 

His old man came out behind her. Like always, he locked up his and Susan’s room with a key. Billy didn’t know why he did that shit. It wasn’t like they had anything to steal or get into. 

Neil stopped in front of him and pulled his billfold out, handing Billy a crisp twenty. “Make sure she eats something other than pizza and candy,” he said. “We’ll be back tomorrow morning.” 

He took the bill. Billy couldn’t remember the last time his dad had given him money. “Sure thing.” 

“Be good,” said Susan softly to Max, who turned her cheek away when Susan leaned in to kiss her. Billy noticed Neil frowning at them. 

He said to him, “You know the Mets are going against the Yankees this Sunday.” 

Neil looked away from them and grimaced. “Let’s hope the Mets wisen up and get their shit together.” 

Billy raised the twenty. “Here’s to hoping.” Susan gave Billy an appreciative look. Sometimes the Hargrove-Mayfields played at house. Sometimes they did it convincingly. 

Even so, he felt himself unwind when their car pulled out of the driveway. 

Billy lolled his head over to look at Max, who was still sulking. “You want pizza and candy?” 

Her face brightened immediately. “And the arcade too?” Then, at the face he pulled, “You already said yes! You can’t take it back.” 

“You’re killing me. Shit, yeah. Don’t take forever to get ready.” 

“I don’t take forever.  _ You _ take forever.” 

 

Billy’s stomach plummeted at the thought of seeing Harrington again, looking all cute in his snap jeans and striped polo shirt. He used the car ride over, plus two cigarettes, to prepare himself. 

He took his time parking, making sure he wasn’t near any bozos who could chip his paint or make his car look dumb. Sure enough, Steve’s Bimmer glimmered under the Palace’s neon lights a couple spaces away. Billy took a moment to glare at it. Then he looked back at the road. Sighing, he cut the engine and followed after Max like a sad sack. 

Harrington was sitting at a booth alone, sipping on a large soda. Billy almost turned back when he saw him. It was worse than he’d thought. At some point Steve had gotten a haircut and his normally unruly hair was carefully coiffed over his forehead. Plus he was wearing a polo roughly ten sizes too small for him. Billy could see his nipples peeking through the thin material. Je-sus. 

And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, he was wearing fucking khakis again. He looked kind of like he looked that first night at Chad’s party. 

When Harrington saw him, he quickly looked away, then back again, before raising a tentative hand. Was almost  too cute. Billy wanted to push him against an alley wall. To punch or to kiss him, he didn’t know. 

He slid into the booth across from him. Max immediately flocked to Sinclair, who was groaning about his score in Pac Man. Henderson, Wheeler, and little Byers were crowded around him looking equally dejected, like they’d personally witnessed a tragedy. Jesus. 

“So I saw you today,” said Steve, clearing his throat roughly. He had his eyebrows raised and his forehead all crinkled while he said it, like he was asking a question. 

“Oh yeah, where? Didn’t see you, pretty boy.” 

“Um. Mowing a lawn actually.” 

Billy snorted. “Mowed a lot of lawns today. Gotta be a little more specific.” 

“I don’t know man! I was driving back from the Fair Mart. Then, uh, I passed you.” He shrugged, holding his hands up. “That’s all I got.” 

“That’s a riveting tale, Stevie.” 

“Man, fuck off,” said Steve, but he was smiling. He had dimples. Billy already knew he had dimples but now he was confronted with them pointing his way. 

“It’s just a summer gig before I fuck outta here at the end of August,” said Billy, examining a hangnail on his thumb. When he looked up again, Steve had that surprised, questioning look back on his face. 

“Yeah? Are you going back to California?” 

“Nah. ‘Bout 3000 miles in the opposite direction. I’m headed to basic actually, in Fort Benning.”

“Oh shit.” Steve ran a hand through his perfect coiff, disrupting it. “So you. You enlisted?” 

“Yeah,” Billy said slowly, “that’s kind of what going to basic means Harrington.” 

Steve blinked at him. He had his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. “Man, aren’t you like scared and shit? That they’ll, I don’t know…” 

“Feed me to a commie?” 

“ _ Yes _ ! I don’t know. Ship you off somewhere?” 

Billy shrugged. He figured someone like him was probably meant to be shipped off somewhere. Young, strong, and disposable. Not like anyone would really miss him. “I’ll probably end up pushing paper in some base office,” he said. 

“Wow. Well, congrats. Hope it works out.” 

“Yeah,” Billy snorted. 

“So, is that where you’ve been? Uh. Mowing lawns. Not basic,” said Steve. 

Billy frowned at him. “What do you mean, where I’ve been?” he said. 

“Just haven’t seen you around, that’s all.” Steve shrugged, looking towards the kids huddled around Pac Man. His arms were crossed on the counter, hands clutching his biceps. He kept rubbing them over his shirt sleeves like he was cold. It felt about a million degrees in here to Billy. 

“You been looking for me?” said Billy. 

“Yeah, I just haven’t really seen you around since the party. That’s all.” Steve still wasn’t looking at him. His face was all pinched up and he kept pulling at his bottom lip with his teeth. Billy wanted to suck his lip out from between them. 

“I’ve been around,” said Billy. “You just haven’t been lookin’ hard enough.” 

“Huh.” Steve finally looked at him. He looked at him so long Billy almost told him to take a fuckin’ picture. “You gonna be around tomorrow night?” 

Billy narrowed his eyes. “You already miss your buddy Billy Hargrove?” he said. 

Harrington looked suddenly like he wanted to take back the offer. His little innocent act crystallized into a glare. He said, a little reluctantly, “My parents won’t be home. I’ve got a pool.” 

Billy scoffed. Of course the Harringtons would have a pool. 

“And, uh, my dad collects bourbon? So. Got a lot of that too…” said Steve, like he needed to sweeten the pot. Billy, in his weaker moments, would take a sloppy fuck anywhere Harrington wanted to have him. But he guessed a ritzy house sounded better. 

He tapped his fingers on the table, pretending to consider. “So you want to swim and drink bourbon together?” 

Steve finally released his bottom lip. His mouth thinned into something resembling a frown. “Is this a trick question?” 

“It’s  _ a _ question.” 

“I mean,yeah. That’s kind of what I was thinking. If you want.” 

Billy kept on looking at him. A small furrow appeared between Harrington’s brows. He was definitely frowning now. 

“I mean if you’re not interested, it’s cool. Forget I asked,” he said.  

“I get off around six,” said Billy, rubbing at his jaw. He figured there wasn’t any reason to turn down a fuck with Harrington. Definitely no reason to start feeling queer again. A fuck was a fuck, and it wasn’t like he wanted to get it from anyone else in this shit town.

Steve brightened up immediately. “Yeah?  _ Alright! _ Guess I’ll see you then.” He took a long sip from his soda, pulling at the ice, and leaned back with a smile.

Billy kept looking at the shine on his lips. He kept looking at Steve even when Max and the dweebs cramped their style talking about dragons and shit. Yeah, Billy figured there wasn’t any harm in saying yes to Harrington, even when he didn’t say the right things. 

 

+++

 

Steve knew he was due for some kind of queer panic, but he didn’t suspect he’d have it on shift at Scoops Ahoy, the day he was supposed to hook up with Billy Hargrove. 

His chest felt constricted, like he couldn’t breathe. When he thought he was in danger of passing out, he left Robin on the floor to hide inside the refrigerator, pulling lungfuls of sugar air in through his nose, out through his mouth, that’s how you did that right? 

He felt like he’d been watching a twenty-four-seven porno any time he closed his eyes. Sometimes when he didn’t. It made him queasy thinking about how good Billy had made him feel. He’d never felt anything like that before.

Steve was reasonably sure he loved Nancy. He was reasonably sure that was the best sex he's ever had. But now he wasn’t so sure.  

Just when he felt like he could breathe again, the fridge door nudged open and Robin slipped in. She sat across from him on an upturned crate. 

“Okay. You’re freaking out. I don’t know why. But you are.” 

“No, no I’m good.” 

“Oh, okay. So you’re just back here…? Taking inventory?”

“I let Billy Hargrove suck me off,” he blurted.  _ And do more than that.  _ Jesus fucking Christ. He still could barely think about that. 

Robin paused, her mouth hanging open. It snapped closed with a little snick. “Billy Hargrove. He’s the one who…?” 

“Beat my face in? Generally hates everyone but especially me? Yeah, yep, bingo.” 

“Just checking.” Robin let out a long sigh. It puffed out through her nostrils in two dainty streams of air. “Alright. Gotta admit. Wasn’t expecting that, but I can work with it. One sec.” She got up, slipped out, and returned about five minutes later with a lit joint. Steve took a hit straight from her hand. 

She let him have the whole thing, and he sucked on it like a fuckin’ iron lung keeping him alive. Robin waited patiently across from him. When he was good and buzzed, he spilled it all. The party. The other party. His failed hookup with Allison. He left out the part where Billy shoved his tongue in his ass, but he figured she probably didn’t need that information. 

Robin listened with her chin perched on her fist, nodding along. When he was finished she reached out for the last of the dope. Steve had smoked most of it. Pinching it between two fingers, she took a couple puffs. 

“I’m not really seeing the problem here,” she said finally, voice tight around her breath of smoke. It furled out in a delicate stream from her mouth and nose. 

“Okay, yeah.” Steve paused. “Did you listen to  _ anything _ I just said?” 

“So he sucked you off a couple times and you enjoyed it? Generally guys like a mouth on their dick.” 

“But  _ not  _ when that mouth is attached to someone  _ else  _ with a dick!” 

“Harrington, if I said you could only eat vanilla ice cream for the rest of your life, would you just let it slide?”

Steve threw his hands up. “If I fucking liked vanilla ice cream!” 

“Yeah, but you might get tired of it and want some chocolate. And since you’ve been eating vanilla for so long, that chocolate might taste pretty good.” 

“Jesus Christ.” Steve pinched his nose. “No, it’s more like I’ve been eating vanilla ice cream my whole life and never even considered eating chocolate. But I accidentally did. And now I have to, like, consider that I like both!” 

Robin blinked at him, unmoved. “Dude, no, now you get to eat double the ice cream. And all ice cream is pretty good!” 

He must have looked some kind of way, because she stubbed the joint out and leaned closer to him, her hands clasped between her knees. “Steve,” she said slowly, like he was a toddler. “Listen to me. Okay? You listening?” 

“Uh,  _ yeah _ .” 

“You’re  _ fine _ . This isn’t even the weirdest thing I’ve heard this week. No one gives a fuck about the kind of things you do in your spare time. And if they do, it’s none of their fuckin’ business. You shouldn’t be freaking out because you liked some guy sucking your dick. You should be freaking out because that guy was Billy Hargrove.” 

“What?” 

Robin rolled her eyes. “You said he hated you. So maybe find out why he changed his mind? That seems like a more interesting story than your sexuality crisis.” 

Huh. Steve blinked at her, feeling winded again. He thought about Billy’s stupid motto. “Yeah maybe,” he said. 

“Yeah  _ definitely _ .” 

 

He got off work around four, which gave him two hours to kill thinking about Billy coming over and Billy sucking his dick and Billy in general. He took a long shower. Then he spent about forty minutes going through his clothes to find something to wear. Then he spent thirty minutes hating everything he found.

Fuck it. It wasn’t like this was a date. Was it?–it wasn’t. Steve pulled on one of his regular polos and a pair of jeans. Nancy told him once they were his best jeans, so maybe he looked alright. 

Of course, he fucked with hair for too long like a chick. By then it was six and he felt like he was going to throw up. He slumped on the couch in the den, clicking through channels without committing to any, his stomach twisting in on itself more and more with each passing minute.

He sat like that for a long time. At nearly seven, a loud knock made him jump. He scrambled up from the couch, nearly ate shit tripping over an errant shoe, and yanked the door open, revealing Billy. They blinked at each other in silence. 

“You gonna invite me in?” said Billy. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt that pulled across his chest and a pair of tight stonewashed jeans. He looked just like he always did, which was really good. Steve felt a little silly for worrying so much about himself. 

“Uh. Sorry, yeah.” He stepped aside and Billy brushed past him. He didn’t take his boots off, a voice sounding like his mother noted. But he didn’t want to think about her. Not when he was in the middle of making a largely terrible decision. So he kept his mouth shut. 

Billy looked around his foyer like it was a museum, sometimes reaching an idle finger out to touch chotskies or photos. Steve expected some kind of biting remark about how big his house was, or how nice, but he was oddly quiet in his dissection. 

“You got that bourbon?” said Billy finally, turning to him. 

Steve felt relieved to be given some kind of task. “Yeah,” he said, leading Billy to his parent’s liquor cabinet. It used to have a lock, but he and Tommy busted it a couple years ago, and besides a half hearted grounding, his parents hadn’t taken any measures to fix it. Steve preferred beer anyways. 

He measured out a couple fingers for them both from his Dad’s bottom shelf blend and handed Billy a crystal cut glass. 

They stood there, awkwardly taking sips from their drinks. “You wanna watch something?” said Steve. “We have a lot of movies.” 

Billy smirked. “Yeah, not really.” 

He set his glass down on a side table. “C’mere King Steve.” Billy hooked a finger inside the waistband of Steve’s jeans, easily pulling him closer. 

“We got Evil Dead. Casablanca…” Steve muttered, fixated by the plump purse of Billy’s lips. He really was pretty like a girl. 

“Oh, Casablanca you say? Nah. I’ll pass. Don’t think you invited me here to watch movies with you.” 

“Think I actually mentioned something about a pool.” 

“Don’t think you invited me here for that either,” said Billy. 

A slow flush warmed his face, creeping down his neck. He was stone sober. He was stone sober and meeting Billy Hargrove’s intense stare and getting kind of hard just hearing him talk. It felt like a lot. He took a big gulp from his drink, choking on it. Billy only smiled at him, a little indulgently. 

“What’d I invite you here for then?” croaked Steve. He looked down at Billy’s thumb stroking over the button of his jeans. He popped them open with one deft motion. 

Billy parted his fly slowly, revealing his hardening cock. They both stared at it. Steve felt like his face was on fire. Tommy used to tease him all the time about how easy it was to fluster him. Nancy too. They called him a blushing bride. 

“Dunno. We can probably think of something.” Billy touched a finger to the tip of his cock through his briefs, the same way he’d touched a family photo of him in the foyer. He hooked his finger under the waistband, pulling them down far enough to expose the head. 

Steve nearly dropped his drink, but strong fingers curled around his, plucking the glass away from him and settling it safely on the side table.

Billy raised hooded eyes up Steve’s body, then back down again to his cock. He sank to his knees in one, smooth motion, like he did this sort of thing every day. Steve had about point one second to feel jealous about that before his warm mouth enveloped him.

A moan punched out of him. This felt so much better, so much  _ more _ , sober. His thighs started shaking and Billy’s hands ran over them, strong and bracing. His fingers curled around the backs of his legs, grazing his ass, and his thumbs rubbed gentling circles on his skin.

Steve didn’t know where to put his hands. Tentatively, he touched the back of Billy’s head. He made a noise around Steve’s cock, encouraging, so he threaded his fingers into the curls at his nape, mostly to steady himself. 

Billy couldn’t take his entire cock in his mouth, so he worked Steve over with a hand while he suckled at the tip. He knew all the sensitive places to hit with his tongue. It was probably fucked up to be thinking about Nancy now, but she’d never touched Steve like this. She’d give him a couple licks before they fucked, but Billy was sucking on him like Steve’s cock was the best thing he’d ever tasted. Like he was really getting off on it.

Maybe he was. Steve could see the hard line of his cock pressing against the front of his jeans. Another hot flush ran down his body. He hadn’t actually seen Billy hard. He’d felt his come on his thighs. He’d heard the slick noise of his hand working himself over.

But he hadn’t seen him hard. And he kind of suddenly wanted to. He decided not to put that thought under a microscope. After all, he already had his cock in another guy’s mouth. That ship had kind of sailed.

Steve tugged gently at Billy’s head until his eyes fluttered open, focusing on him. “C’mere. Wanna try something,” said Steve.

Billy gave him one more enthusiastic suck before coming off his cock with a  _ pop _ and standing. Hands still tangled in his hair and arms bracketing Billy’s flushed face, Steve felt oddly exposed. He turned his attention down to the bulge in Billy’s jeans and hooked a finger through a belt loop.

“Been thinking about touching you,” he said, chancing a look at Billy through lowered eyes.

He wasn’t looking at him. He was fixated by Steve’s hand. “What kinda things you been thinking?” he murmured, swiping his tongue along his plush lower lip.

Shit. He wasn’t prepared to say this out loud. To Billy. Steve hummed noncommittally and fumbled to undo his belt. It took a couple tries, but Billy waited patiently.

He helped Steve grasp his zip and part his fly, because his hands were too unsteady for that. At the release of pressure, his cock bobbed free. Billy wasn’t wearing any underwear, which figured. His cock was thick and long. Not as big as Steve’s but unmistakably a hard dick in his hand. Steve carefully wrapped Billy in his fist, just testing the weight of him for a moment. His heart hammered in his chest.

“Um. Hard to tell, I know, but I’ve never done his before,” he said. He couldn’t look at Billy. So he kept looking at his cock, hard and hot in his palm. He was kind of mesmerized by the sight of him.

Billy huffed out a sound of amusement. He pushed his hips forward, sliding through Steve’s hand. “You never touch your dick before?”

“No, yeah, I have some experience with that.”

“Then do what you do to yourself.”

Billy’s voice was low and impossibly soft. He imagined it was the voice he crooned at skittish girls before slipping a hand into their panties

So he tried touching him the way he liked to touch himself. After some trial and error, they found a rhythm. He had Billy’s hips hitching forward, had him making little grunts whenever he circled his palm around the head of his cock.

The glide was rough so he took his hand away long enough to spit into it, then put it back on Billy, drawing a choked noise from him now. Steve moved his other hand back to Billy’s hair, fingers tangling in his curls. He blinked hazily at Steve when he pulled at his hair, an involuntary gesture to bring him closer.

His eyes dropped to his lips. Steve thought he might kiss him. He barely had any time to dissect his feelings about that before Billy dropped his head into the crook of Steve’s neck. His breaths were damp against his already overheated skin.

“Shit, baby,” he breathed, tacky lips catching on his skin. Steve clutched his hair harder. His own cock surged, reacting to the pet name.

“Jesus you’re so hot. Wanna see you come,” babbled Steve, too lost in the sensation of Billy gliding against his hand to feel embarrassed about admitting it.

“Yeah? Say my name,” Billy said, breathing his words into Steve’s skin.

He had never in his life spoken like this to another person. Not with girls. Definitely not with Nancy. His body was flashing with currents of heat. “Fuck, Billy. I want—I wanna see you. C’mon, let me see you come.”

Billy made a whining noise and buried his face further against his neck, nosing at his sweat slick hair.  

His body tightened, and then he shuddered with release, come pulsing over Steve’s knuckles and smearing against their shirts. He held Billy close and stroked him until he was done. He’d almost forgotten about his own dick until Billy slid gracefully back to his knees, taking him into his mouth. 

He’d only bobbed his head a couple times before that tingle in his lower back started up. Usually it built gradually, but his orgasm rushed him before he could warn Billy. He clutched at his hair, spilling into his mouth. Billy swallowed every last drop, even suckled Steve after he’d finished, like he was chasing the taste. 

Steve flagged against the wall, supported mostly by Billy’s hands on his thighs. 

“You’re—really good at that,” he said, swallowing mouthfuls of air. 

Billy’s eyes glittered like he found Steve amusing. His hands were still smoothing over his thighs. It felt nice. “Thanks for the review, Harrington.” 

“No seriously. I’ve never, uh, done anything like that before.” 

He licked at his lower lip. “What, the princess didn’t take care of you?” 

Steve realized his hands were still buried in Billy’s hair and removed them to tuck himself away. Without looking at him, he said, “Not like that, no.” 

He hummed. Billy’s legs were still splayed open, his softening cock hanging heavy between them. “That’s a shame, Stevie,” he said, rising slowly. 

Lazily righting his clothes, he said, “You need a bitch who’ll treat you right.” Then, leaning closer like he was sharing a secret, “Maybe Wheeler’s little friend?” 

Steve didn’t know what to say. He watched Billy’s face physically closing off to him. Now that he’d spent more time with him, he could see the levers working, arranging his expression into something more apathetic. 

“When can I see you again?” he blurted, because he knew Billy was about to leave, and he felt wrong footed, straddling a rapidly tipping scale that wasn’t falling in his favor. 

Billy threw him a sharp grin. “So eager, King Steve. Like always, I’ll be around.” He clapped Steve on the shoulder. “See you later, pretty boy.” 


	5. 5.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy gets a little more clarification about what Steve wants from him. And it's not what he expects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! I am seriously so feckin' touched by everyone's comments and reactions to this story. Have a chapter a day early! And, as always, please comment and leave a kudos if you feel like it!

At some time around one in the morning, Billy gave up on any hope of finding sleep or peace or fuckin’ anything. There was a teacher back in Oakland who would start the class with some new age bullshit, meditation or whatever. Billy liked that class because while everyone was deep in their mind thanking the universe for bread, he’d get to snooze for an extra fifteen minutes.

Billy could really use those extra fifteen minutes right about now. Probably could even use some meditation too. He kept seeing Harrington’s face whenever he closed his eyes—that wasn’t so unusual, except these faces were ones he’d actually seen in person instead of his usual queer bullshit. 

Fuck, his room was too fuckin’ hot. He wrestled with the window until it was halfway up, tapped a cigarette out of his pack, and smoked into the night. Sometimes this happened, he reasoned. Didn't have to mean too much. He'd always been a light sleeper. 

Billy dug around in his discarded jeans for the Camaro’s keys, thankful when he found them. Not always, but sometimes, Neil would get a real bug up his ass about Billy getting up to no good and he’d snatch the keys until morning. If Billy didn’t keep them on him. Billy thought his old man liked him beggin’ for them. That’s about always how it went. Neil would never tell him he had his keys. He’d just let Billy figure that out and sweat. 

And beg. 

He stubbed his cigarette out on the windowsill and wiped the ash away with the hem of his shirt. The jeans felt cold on his thighs when he stepped into them. By now, Billy had gotten pretty good at sneaking around. He fished out a crumpled note card from the bottom of his backpack and positioned it under the window after he’d climbed out of it. To keep it from sticking. Nothing like shiving open a stuck window at three in the morning—that was a great way to find Neil’s shotgun in his face. 

He crossed the grass and opened the Camaro as quietly as possible. There wasn’t much he could do about the engine, but Billy knew by now to park a ways down the street instead of directly in the driveway. The Camaro kicked up under him, and he barely waited until the engine had settled into its customary purr before peeling down Cherry. 

Billy guessed he had a route by now. Those first months here, he’d spent a lot of time getting lost around Hawkins. He’d seen every fucking cow patch there was in this shithole town, and now he had his favorites. He always started off heading toward the quarry, because that lead out to the stretch of Hawkins before the highway. It was real underdeveloped—well, most of Hawkins was—but on clear nights he could see the brackish hint of rolling fields.

On the way, he passed the turn off to Loch Nora. His stomach twisted. To distract himself, Billy tapped out another cigarette. He’d already smoked two. He didn’t even turn the window down while he smoked. Gradually, the cabin filled with a grey haze, and by the time he reached the filter, his eyes and lungs burned. 

Finally, he let the window down, just so he could flick the cigarette outside. It took a while for the smoke to clear out. He must have been driving around already for close to an hour. For some reason, he couldn’t decide where to stop. He just had a feeling if he stopped he would never fuckin’ get to sleep. 

He jammed another cigarette in between his lips. Up ahead the sign of a McDonald’s flickered. He was approaching that stretch before the highway, right on the lip of Hawkins proper. It was where all the fast food chains were. He swung into the lot without thinking even though it was fuckin’ closed. That figured. Out in California you could go to McDonald’s any time of the night. 

Billy punched through the tracks on the mixtape in his deck, trying to find one that didn’t fuckin’ bum him out. Usually, this tape put him in a real sunny mood, but now it kept making him think about shit. He punched through to the final track, then popped the deck open. Maybe he threw the tape back into the console kind of hard or whatever. 

Fucking hell. Billy dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until the pressure hurt too much. When he blinked into the night, splotches of vibrating colors floated across his vision. He kept blinking until they were totally gone. In their place he saw a brown Bimmer. 

For a second, he didn’t know what he was looking at. Well, he knew. He wasn’t a fuckin’ idiot. It just felt like looking’ at something familiar in a dream, but because you were lookin’ at it in a dream, it didn’t look right. 

He kept blinking at the car. Eventually, Harrington opened his window, his pale hand appearing through it and tapping out excess ash onto the windowsill. Billy didn’t know how is mouth could water and go dry at the same time. He didn’t even know what the fuck he was feeling right now. To be honest, it kind of felt like he’d gotten cracked across the mouth. 

Jesus, he was a pansy. Now wasn’t the time to start up any of his queer shit. Unfortunately, it was getting harder and harder to stop himself from thinking like that. Who would have known acting like a queer made you think like a queer. His throat clicked around a dry swallow. 

When he fumbled around for another cigarette, Billy only found an empty carton. He pulled his eyes away from the Bimmer to stare into his pack. Then he looked back at Harrington. 

Before he could think too much about it, Billy pushed the Camaro’s door open. The gravel of the lot crunched under his boots. He expected Harrington to look up and say something to him before he reached the car, but he didn’t. Billy tapped on the roof with his knuckles. 

“Got a smoke?” he said. 

Harrington swung his head around to look at Billy. He was wearing a pair of headphones all lopsided on his head, and he scrambled to pull them off. It fucked up his hair. Billy privately thought it made him look even better. His eyes seemed darker than usual tonight like maybe he couldn’t sleep as well. 

For a moment they only stared at each other. Billy started to feel weird. “Smokes Harrington. You got one or not?” he snapped. 

Steve blinked at him a couple more times, then dumbly handed him the one perched behind his ear. Their fingers grazed when Billy took it from him. He nodded his thanks and started to walk back to the Camaro. 

“Uh, hold on—here,” said Steve. Billy heard the quiet snick of a lighter. He looked over his shoulder at the flickering flame. “You’re gonna need to move closer than that,” he said, when Billy didn’t move. 

Billy snorted, rolling his eyes. He leaned down with the cigarette still in his mouth and sucked until it was lit. Then he stayed there, eye-level with Harrington, watching the shadows on his face move every time the flame did. 

Steve’s throat bobbed around a swallow. “Can I ask you something?” he breathed, eyeing Billy like even asking him that much was gonna get him popped in the face or somethin’. Billy decided he didn’t like Steve looking like that, so he didn’t even say anything mean. He nodded. 

“ _ Casablanca. _ You ever actually seen it?” 

The question flew through his head without recognition. He had to drag it back by the scruff and repeat it in his head just to understand him. “You really out here asking if I’ve seen  _ Casablanca _ ?” said Billy slowly. 

Steve’s smile was small. “Just humor me,” he said. 

Billy kept eyeing him. “Fell asleep to it once. That count?” 

Now Steve was laughing. He was shooting dimples at Billy and everything. “Yeah, not really. What about  _ Evil Dead _ ?” 

Billy finally remembered he had a smouldering cigarette in his hand and took a drag off it, wanting a moment to order his thoughts. Blowing smoke out the side of his mouth, he said, “Man, what are you askin’ me right now?”

Steve rubbed at his wild hair. He wasn’t looking at Billy anymore. “Nothin’. I don’t know. Forget I said anything.”

The lighter was closed now and in the dark, illuminated by the McDonald’s sign, Harrington didn’t look real. He looked too much like the Steve inside Billy’s head. Sniffing, Billy said, “Why, you seen that shit?” 

Steve barked out an unexpected laugh. “Yeah, it’s like my favorite.” 

“Thought you didn’t like scary movies.” 

“Uh,  _ Casablanca _ . Not  _ Evil Dead _ ,” said Steve all imperious, like Billy should be readin’ his fucking mind or something. He would if he could, Billy thought. Sometimes it scared him how much he wanted to look into Harrington’s head, just to see if he ever thought about Billy. 

When he looked up from his shoes, he found Harrington smiling all soft at him. His mouth was crooked up at the side. Only one of his dimples was showing. Billy thought about Harrington all alone in his big house watching fucking  _ Casablanca.  _ It wasn’t that hard to imagine, knowing what he did about Harrington already. Which wasn’t that much, he realized. 

After a few years of staring at each other, Steve cleared his throat a couple times. “So you do this kinda thing a lot? Hang around at McDonald’s in the middle of the night?” 

Billy inhaled a final drag from his cigarette and took his time stomping it out. “You’re full of questions tonight Harrington,” he said. 

“Call me curious,” he said softly, running another hand through his already crazy hair and making it look even crazier. Billy nearly reached out to smooth a piece down. He just barely stopped himself. Jesus Christ. He needed to head home before he started acting like a real fairy.

“You want another?” said Steve suddenly, already reaching for his pack. 

Billy shook his head. “No. Keep ‘em. Think I maxed out my quota for sittin’ in abandoned parking lots at night.” 

Steve blinked at him, then grinned, like he’d just figured out Billy was making a joke. “Yeah, you don’t wanna work overtime,” he said. 

Billy nearly smiled.

 

 

 

Something wet hit his face and Billy nearly fell off the couch when he startled awake. For one panicked moment, he thought his old man was coming at him, but it was just Max. She sat across from him on the coffee table, her hands dripping with suds like she’d just washed them. She flicked more water at him. 

“Quit your shit,” he grumbled, sinking back into the cushions. “What do you want? Why you gotta bother me?” He felt like he’d only just got to sleep. Didn’t seem fair that he needed to get up now. 

“I want to go to the pool,” she said. 

Billy groaned. “Good for you. Tell the neighborhood.” 

She sighed loud and long, sounding an awful lot like Harrington. Billy didn’t know how he felt about Harrington rubbing off on Max. They were bad enough on their own. “Please! It’s really nice out for once.” 

He craned his head, squinting out the window. “Looks like the same shithole to me.” 

“Steve will be there…” said Max in a weird voice. 

Panic seized him, but he tried his best to look normal. At the very least like he was breathing, which he had to remind himself to do. “You’re supposed to be convincing me, Maxine. Thought you wanted to go to the pool,” he said, clearing his throat. 

“ _ Please _ Billy!” 

“Why can’t Harrington pick you up? Isn’t he your professional babysitter?” 

“He’s already there.  _ Please _ . I’ll buy you a popsicle?” 

She bit her lip, working him over with a look she reserved for his old man and Susan. He didn’t expect it to be so effective. Groaning, he pulled himself up on the couch, swinging his legs over the side. “Max, c’mon. This is my day off.” 

“And don’t you want to spend it relaxing at the pool enjoying a free popsicle?” She batted her lashes at him like he was Sinclair or something. He scrubbed a hand through his messy hair. He'd already seen Harrington last night. Billy didn't know how he'd feel seeing him again so soon. Sometimes he thought he could only take Harrington the way he could take his old man, spaced out, on the cusp of forgetting the last incident. He rubbed at his face some more. Max kept on staring him down like she could telepathically will him to bring her to the pool. 

Jesus Christ. He guessed he wouldn’t fuckin’ combust or anything if he had to see Harrington in the daylight or whatever.

“Don’t get me grape again,” he grumbled, feeling like a complete sad sack. End of summer, he reminded himself. Just a few more weeks of this shit and he could move on with his life. 

“Promise,” said Max, crossing herself like an idiot. “Give me five minutes.” 

He gave her twenty. 

  
  
  


Billy chose a spot suitably far away from Harrington and the brat pack. His bruises were healed enough that he could go shirtless, and it felt good to enjoy a warm day with the breeze on his skin. Max got him a popsicle—orange—and he lapped at the sticky sweetness, casually observing Harrington hanging around Wheeler’s lifeguard stand like a stray dog.  

She said something that made him laugh. Billy sucked at the dripping juice on his fingers and wondered what she’d said. What kind of jokes did the frigid princess of Hawkins tell Harrington? Maybe they were talking about fuckin’  _ Casablanca _ .  

She suddenly stood from her chair, blowing a whistle. “Adult swim!” she called. Max groaned. She kicked over to the side of the pool and splashed water all over Billy lugging herself out. He would yell at her but it felt kind of good. He hated to admit it, but it  _ was _ nice out. One of the nicest days Hawkins had seen yet. 

Billy watched Harrington follow Wheeler like a puppy to a table under a large red umbrella. She rummaged through a backpack, pulling out a piece of paper. Steve looked confused when she handed it to him. He didn’t take it at first, but when she pushed it closer, he slipped it into his pocket. Nancy batted at his chest, saying something else that made him smile. Billy could see his dimples even from across the pool. 

He started gnawing on his popsicle stick, jonesing for a cigarette.

“Gonna be back in a sec,” he told Max. 

Steve smiled when he noticed Billy approaching him. His big eyes crinkled up at the corners and everything. “Hey! Didn’t know you were gonna be here,” he said. They were now standing by the vending machine under an overhead awning. Steve clutched a sweating Coke in his hand. 

“Funny, everyone else got the announcement,” he said, swiping his Coke away and taking a long sip. 

Steve leaned against the brick wall, still smiling. “Hah, hah.”

“I'll take that smoke now Harrington,” he said. 

Steve waggled his eyebrows like a dork. “You’re in luck. Just got a new pack. They even have that new pack smell. Kinda like raisins, you know? Hold on a sec.”

Billy bit his lip so he wouldn’t grin. Instead, he admired Steve’s amazing ass move in his swim trunks as he walked across the pool deck. Harrington stopped at a chair surrounded by coolers and soggy blankets and open chip bags. When he leaned down, his little salmon swim trunks rode up, exposing a creamy expanse of thigh. He had a tan-line there. Billy realized suddenly he hasn’t seen Harrington completely naked. 

Steve returned and lit them both a cigarette, then ushered him past the restrooms and out the front gate to the smoking zone. New pool rules apparently, enforced by none other than Wheeler. That’d figure. 

“So. What’ve you been up to? Like, in general. Not like since last night,” said Steve, plopping himself down in a patch of shaded grass. Billy remained standing. He blew his smoke down at Steve, who wrinkled his nose up. He looked like a little kid with his legs crossed and hair all crazy from the pool water. 

“Work,” he said like an asshole 

Steve made a face at him like he knew Billy was bein' an asshole. He really looked cute as shit. “You workin’ tonight?” 

Billy squinted down at him. He almost asked him why he wanted to fuckin' know but sucked the words back. Aiming more smoke down at him, he said, “Already need to blow off some steam?” 

Harrington rolled his eyes. Leaning back into the grass, arms crossed over his head, he said, “We never got to actually use my pool.” 

“We’re at the pool now,” said Billy. 

He shrugged. “Yeah, but I’ve also got a hot tub. So.” 

“Course you fuckin' do.”

Billy kept staring down at Harrington. His eyes were closed now and dappled shadows crossed his face every time a cloud passed over the sun. He looked kind of beautiful. Like some faggy painting. Jesus Christ.

“As tempting as that sounds, I actually got a date,” he said. Date was a loose word for what he had planned, but Harrington needed to know he wasn’t just hanging around waiting for him to pop a hard-on. 

Steve’s eyes flew open. A little pucker appeared between his brows. “Yeah? Do I know them?”

“Probably not. She’s a sophomore.” 

“Oh—does she have a name?” 

Billy took a final drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out. “Tess.” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Tess what?”

“Why, you wanna ask her out?” 

Harrington glared up at him, biting at his bottom lip. The more Billy hung around him, the more he noticed his little ticks. Like biting his lip whenever Billy gave him a hard time. Or whenever he sucked his cock.

“You guys just hanging out?” he pressed. 

Billy scoffed. “Man, you’re really giving me the third degree here.” 

“Uh, _no_ I’m not. You’re just acting—all weird or whatever.” Harrington stubbed his cigarette out even though it had smouldered out long ago. He sat up and tucked his wild hair behind his ears. A wash of pink pricked at the bridge of his nose like he’d gotten sunburnt. 

“I’m not acting like fuckin’ anything. You’re the one grilling me like some girlfriend,” said Billy. 

The pink deepend. Steve’s big eyes flashed in the sun. He pushed up onto his feet but didn’t move closer to Billy. “I literally only asked for her name.” 

He rolled his eyes. Billy really didn’t feel like getting into it with Harrington right now. “Jesus, fine. We’re hanging at the quarry with Tommy and Carol.”

Steve paused. “Man, I can’t think of anything worse than bringing my date around Tommy. He’s like the ultimate turnoff.” 

Billy surprised himself by laughing, which made Steve smile again. He was in a real sunny mood today. Maybe his mousy bitch had learned to take a dick in the mouth. The moment he thought it, he wished he hadn’t. Even thinking hypothetically about her and Harrington soured his mood. It was probably only a matter of time before he fucked off on Billy. Really, he shouldn’t care, but the idea of being sidelined from Steve’s life again kind of bummed him out.

“She knew him first,” said Billy, trying not to sulk. He itched at his hair absently. 

Steve moved a little closer to him. He wasn’t in his personal space, but just on the edge of it. One step and he would be. “Then she can only go up,” he said. 

“Lucky her,” said Billy. 

Harrington took his one step. He touched Billy on the shoulder, a relatively chaste touch nobody would raise a brow at. It still made him burn. “Lucky her,” said Steve, letting his hand slip away. He walked back to the pool area. Adult swim was over. 

 

 

+++

 

Steve couldn’t exactly be sure when he fell asleep. It kind of felt like he hadn’t fallen asleep at all. He drifted through a lucid corridor of dreams, briefly waking up between them to find himself in his fully lit living room, various cable programs droning in the background. When he finally woke up for real, it was two in the morning. 

The banging on his back door persisted. It sounded different in real life than in his dream. He dragged himself from the couch and through the kitchen, blinking at a blurry shape pressed against the back door. 

The shape gradually resolved itself into Billy. Steve fumbled with the door’s latch. The moment he got it undone, Billy pushed inside. Steve rubbed at his neck. “You do know it’s like, two in the morning?” 

Billy shrugged. He leaned back against the kitchen island, a movement that pulled his black snap shirt tight across his chest. He had it buttoned half way. Something about a half-revealing shirt was more tantalizing than seeing Billy’s naked chest. 

“You invited me over,” said Billy. 

Steve peered at him. He wasn’t fully awake yet, but he was getting there. Billy’s eyes were glazed, lacking the fundamental clarity that made looking at Billy so overwhelming. “Date went well?” he asked.

Billy swayed toward him. “Mm. I was a little preoccupied.” 

“Yeah? By what?” said Steve, quirking an eyebrow at him. Billy swayed even closer. His warm hands landed on Steve’s hips, and when he leaned down to nose at his neck, he could smell the burn of booze on him. 

“Been thinking about you, baby. Still wanna see me?” Billy pressed the words into his skin. Even wasted, he sounded so good. 

“Yeah. We can hang out,” he said. 

Billy shook his head. His pressing weight made Steve stumble back a little. He caught them both against the kitchen table. “ _Mm,_ don’t wanna hang out,” he slurred.

“What’re you here to do then?” said Steve, kind of amused. 

“Wanted to see you.” 

“Yeah, what’s your next move, now that you saw me?” 

Billy released a breathy noise against his neck and began fumbling for his fly. He hitched his hips against Steve. He wasn’t hard yet, but the intent was clear. Steve swallowed. He gently took Billy’s hand away from his jeans. 

Billy pulled away, staring blankly at their hands clasped together. He thought maybe he’d done something wrong, so he tried to pull his back, but Billy only clasped him tighter. 

“You wanna move to the living room?” said Steve after a moment of silence. He started maneuvering them there without waiting for an answer and Billy didn’t put up much of a fight.

“Did you drive here?” he wondered, pulling Billy down onto the couch. He seemed drunker by the minute, like he’d used a small retainer of sobriety to make it here, and now that he’d done that, it was all gone. 

“How else would I get here?” he grumbled. When Steve sat up to grab the remote, he fell over on the couch immediately without his body to lean on. Billy glared at him from behind a curtain of disheveled curls. His lips were plump, kiss-bruised like he’d hooked up with Tess before coming here. He probably had.

Steve thought he looked pretty cute. He grinned down at him. “Dunno. You’re pretty resourceful—hey, wanna watch something with me?” 

“Told you what I want,” he said, mumbling into the cushion. 

Steve ignored him and slid _Annie Hall_ into the VHS. “You know, this is one of my favorite movies, besides _Casablanca_ ,” he said, settling back onto the couch. Billy peered up at him, one eye open and the other squinted shut. His head was next to his leg, so Steve gently maneuvered him onto his lap. 

Billy grunted when his hand drifted into his hair. “What’re you doing?” he slurred. 

“Watchin’ a movie,” said Steve.  

“Could be doin’ somethin’ else,” he said, rubbing his hand slowly over Steve’s thigh. Even uncoordinated, he was pretty effective. 

“Hey, come on. Watch with me.” He made his voice soft like he was talking to a spooked animal. Billy’s hand kept rubbing over his thigh, climbing higher and higher. He took his hand again to stop him. This time when Billy looked at their hands together, he frowned. 

“You tired of fuckin’ already?” he said in a weird voice.

Steve frowned at him. “No,” he said slowly, “but you’re drunk. And it’s nearly three in the morning. And you might not realize it yet, but I am gifting you with some excellent blackmail material. Just think of all the jokes you’ll get to make about me liking _Annie Hall_.” 

He gave Billy’s hand a small squeeze for emphasis. “C’mon. Tell me something," he said, fishing for something to alleviate Billy's scowl. "Uh, tell me—tell me about your date,” he said. 

That provoked a particularly sharp glare. Billy almost looked sober. He snatched his hand away and struggled to sit up. “Nothin’ happened,” he snapped.

“Okay…” 

“You want me to fuck off?” 

Steve felt wrong-footed again. Even around a tanked Billy, he couldn’t find his balance. “No? Why would I want you to leave?” 

“Just seem like you might,” said Billy. He looked like he might try and stand, so Steve reached out for him without thinking, curving his hand over his neck. 

“ _Jesus_. Would you just come here? I don’t want you to leave,” said Steve. 

Billy looked like he was going to fight him, so Steve kept rubbing circles into his nape until reluctantly, he lowered back down on Steve’s lap. 

He kept rubbing circles until he finally gave in to the powers of Annie Hall. 

“Just tryin’ to earn my keep,” he mumbled sometime later. They were at the part where Diane Keaton was boiling a lobster. 

“Hmm?” said Steve. He peered down at Billy and found him looking up at him, gaze sharp. 

“You really just trying to hang out?” said Billy after a long beat of silence. 

Steve didn’t know what he was asking. He shrugged. “Yeah. I really _do_ like this movie.” 

Billy darted a tongue out over his lip. A big furrow appeared between his brow like he was trying to figure something out. Finally, he snorted, turning away from him. He settled back against his leg. “This is truly a gift you’re giving me, Stevie. Letting me know this.” 

Steve smiled. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” 


	6. 6.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Billy go on a date, date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, this chapter is so long. I was gonna break it up into two but...nah. Strap on in. As always, comments are amazing. I love reading everyone's thoughts. Thank you everyone for your support.

Harrington snored. Billy found that out real quick. He snored and he slept more soundly than the dead, even though he didn’t fuckin’ look like it. 

It was nearly five in the morning. The blue screen from the TV chased away every shadow in the room, even the ones under Harrington’s eyes. Billy was still fucking drunk. Maybe that’s why he could feel alright just sitting there looking at him. He looked real young in his sleep, with his mouth slack and his full lips parted.  

Without thinking, Billy touched his thumb to the center of Harrington’s bottom lip. He felt like a piece of shit ending up here. Billy knew better than to do that. He fucking knew better. 

But Harrington’s mouth was soft under his thumb, and he could feel every breath ghosting over his knuckles. His dark lashes were soft smudges against his pale skin. Looking at him, his chest started to feel tight. Billy tried to breathe through it, but he didn't start feeling normal again until he wasn't touching Harrington anymore. 

He figured he should leave before Steve woke up. When he creaked up from the couch, black spots floated in front of him, the way they did after Neil hit him one too many times. It was a fucking miracle he’d even made it here instead of wrapped around a tree.

Right about now, Billy wondered if he wouldn’t prefer that.

He looked at Harrington again, just a quick look, and crept out the back door so he wouldn’t make any noise on the wood floors. Billy dragged himself across the Harrington's nice lawn and then he dragged himself into his car. His head was pounding. A waft of silver lightened the sky above the treeline. He looked at that a while, smoking, fucking around with his mirrors—somehow they were all screwed up from last night.

He glared at the wadded up towel in his passenger seat. He’d given it to Tess since Tommy had pushed her into the water and all. She’d kissed him. Billy remembered the taste of bubblegum. He remembered her shoulders feeling so small under his hands when he’d pushed her back.

When he looked up, Billy caught the eye of some old lady and her dog across the street. She was giving his car the stink eye. They probably didn’t see too many Camaros around Harrington’s neck of the woods. Billy gave her a two-fingered wave.

Maybe she waved back. He wouldn’t know. 

A loud knock on his window startled him so bad he nearly bit through his tongue. “Jesus fucking  _ Christ _ ,” said Billy, whipping his head around. Harrington gave him a big dorky wave through his passenger window.

He swallowed and managed to roll the window down. God, he was so fuckin’ stupid, hanging around here. He shouldn’t have been here in the first place. Should have gone straight home and jacked off in his bed like a good little queer.

“Hey,” said Harrington, when Billy still didn’t say anything. “You’re—uh, you don’t have to take off just yet. You hungry? I can make breakfast.”  

Harrington’s hair was all crazy from sleeping on the couch, and he kept pushing it out of his face even though it wasn’t in his fuckin’ face.

“We got eggs,” he went on. “Uh, bacon. Dust says that’s about all I can cook, but I can totally make pancakes—”

“I gotta head back,” said Billy, clearing his throat.

Steve’s mouth clicked shut. He nodded his head and didn’t say anything else. It was getting lighter by the second. Billy wondered if that old lady was looking at them. Wondered what she was thinkin’. If she was gonna tell Harrington’s old man that the no good Hargrove kid was parked practically on their lawn.

Billy felt kinda like laughing even though nothing was too funny.

“Okay, yeah, sure,” said Steve finally. Billy guessed he still didn’t know Harrington too well, but he knew he looked kind of disappointed.

Billy fished around in his pockets for his cigarettes so he could distract himself from Harrington looking like that. He tapped at his shirt pocket, his jeans—Steve handed him one through the window. He didn’t look at him when he took it. The birds were out chirping, and the leaves were rustling all merry like in some cartoon. Those were the only sounds between them. That and the snick of Billy getting his lighter open.

When he looked back up, Harrington was still staring at him, his pretty mouth twisted up. Billy didn’t know what reason he had to look like that. He didn't know what to say to Harrington. He didn’t even really know what all he’d said to Harrington last night, and the more he sat out here in the daylight, the more he didn’t want to fuckin’ know.

“Look, ah, I’ll see you okay?” he said.

Harrington’s mouth twisted up even more. “Yeah, will you?” he said, kinda snappy.

Billy flicked the ash off his cigarette. “Sure. I’ll be—”

“You’ll be around. Yeah. Got it,” snapped Harrington. He started running his hands through his hair again.

Billy didn’t know why he was acting like a little bitch. For once, he hadn’t done nothin’ to Harrington. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe Harrington was all bent out of shape because Billy hadn’t got him off. That thought made him feel real sour.

“Look man, I don’t really wanna do this with you right now, okay?”

“What? What are we doin’?” said Harrington. His arms were crossed over his chest, and Billy could see a sliver of dark hair peeking out from his small shirt. He didn’t remember Harrington wearing such a small shirt last night. He thought he would have noticed something like that.

“Whatever’s up your ass, okay? I don’t got time for it. I gotta head back.”

“Yeah, whatever,” said Harrington. “Guess I’ll—see you  _ around _ .”

Billy felt himself getting pissed off. He kept smoking his cigarette so he wouldn’t say the first three things that came into his head. “Man, what d’you fuckin’ want from me right now?”

“I—” Harrington’s mouth opened and closed. Maybe he was tryin’ not to say the first three things that came into his mind too. “I want to make you breakfast,” he said. “Can I—will you let me make you breakfast?”

The anger immediately slipped away from him. He just felt very tired. And fuckin’ hungover. Billy rubbed a heel into his eye. “Man, I really do need to go,” he said slowly.

Harrington's mouth twisted up even move, and before he could start up his shit again, Billy said, “You gonna be at the McDonald’s again tonight?”

“What?”

Billy rolled his eyes. “The McDonald’s. You gonna be there? I think you should be there.”

Steve bit his lip. Billy wasn’t too hungover to miss that. “Yeah, I can be there,” he said softly.

He threw his cigarette out the window. “Then I guess you’ll see me after all.”

 

+++

 

Billy hadn’t told him when to be there, but Steve felt so nervous he ended up parked by the McDonald’s dumpster by ten-thirty. They weren’t even officially closed yet. Several workers bringing trash out gave him weird looks, and he was half-expecting to find Hopper out here to write him up for loitering.

Eventually the lot was empty. And Hopper never showed up. Steve didn’t consider himself a big smoker, but he made it through half a pack before he passed out. Well, he didn’t remember passing out, but he must have because he woke up to Billy Hargrove sliding into his car. Steve thought he was dreaming for a second. He even reached out to touch Billy, like Billy was his boyfriend or something.

Then he slapped Steve lightly on the cheek, muttering, “Wake up, pretty boy.” And Steve knew it wasn’t a dream.

He struggled to sit up. His knees were bent weird and his neck hurt. He rubbed at it. Billy reclined Steve’s passenger seat, his hands clasped behind his head. He wasn’t looking at Steve.

“Uh, you want a drink?” said Steve, opening his console. Billy looked at the flask he pulled out. He took it from him wordlessly and pulled two long sips from it. Steve watched the way his throat worked. He looked good. He was wearing a Metallica T-shirt. It looked like he'd cut it, because the hem was short and ragged. Steve kept seeing little flashes of tan skin whenever Billy moved his arms. 

“Man, I think that's the drunkest I've ever seen you—last night,” he said when Billy passed the flask back over. 

He paused in the middle of wiping his mouth off with his hand. “Been drunker,” he grumbled.

“You even liked  _ Annie Hall _ ,” he said, trying to suss out what all Billy remembered.

“Is that the shit we watched?” said Billy, frowning now.

“Yeah. But you fell asleep like half-way through.”

“Right,” said Billy.

“Right.” Steve kept nodding his head. He’d had like ten questions prepared for tonight, but now he couldn’t think of one. He took another drink to fill the silence. He knew you didn’t always have to talk, but this wasn’t one of those comfortable silences he’d have with Nancy. He got the feeling Billy really didn’t want to be there right now.

“So what, you want me to suck your cock?” said Billy suddenly, finally turning to look at him.

Steve almost didn’t hear the question. He felt kind of winded when he repeated it inside his head. “Uh— _ what _ ?” Then, when Billy only cocked an eyebrow, he said, “Why, you, uh, you want to or something?”

Billy shrugged his shoulder up. “Can if you want.”

“Um, no, I think I’m good.”

“Can do somethin’ else.”

Steve took another long sip from the flask because he had no fucking idea what to say. He just kept looking at Billy and Billy kept not looking at him. “No, it’s fine,” said Steve. “Listen, do you want me to put some music on or somethin'?”

Billy shrugged again. “If you want.”

Steve was already digging around in the console. He thought he had an idea.

When he found the right tape, he slipped it in and flipped through the tracks. Billy ignored him putzing around. Only when the first notes of  Wham!’s " I’m Your Man" started playing did he finally look Steve’s way.

“You serious right now?  _ Wham! _ ?” he said, eyebrows high on his face.

Steve spread his hands out. “ Wham! ,” he agreed.

Billy scoffed. “You know, I shouldn’t be so fuckin’ surprised.”

“Well, you know, I'm full of surprises.”

Steve watched the corner of Billy’s mouth twitch like he was fighting a smile. “Yeah? What kinda surprises Harrington?”

Steve settled onto his side in the chair so he was facing Billy. He took another small swig from the flask, then held up his hand. When he almost bent his middle finger back to his wrist, Billy made a disgusted noise. That made Steve laugh, so he did it again.

“Shit man, how can you even do that? Doesn’t that hurt.” Billy plucked the flask away from him, and his eyes glittered at Steve over the rim while he took his sip.

Steve shrugged. “I dunno. Think I’m like double jointed or some shit.”

Billy reached his hand out over the console. “My fingers are all crooked. This one barely goes back at all,” he said, pulling his index finger up a little.

Without thinking, Steve took his hand so he could inspect it. Billy’s hands were pretty nice, he thought, even with his crooked fingers. They were big and dry, and Steve could see Billy bit his nails just like he did.

When he looked up, Billy was staring at him in that intense way he had. “Got any other surprises pretty boy?”

“Yeah, uh, I do this party trick—maybe you’ve seen it? I hang around a buncha nerd kids and make all my other friends disappear.” He laughed because it was true, but not because it was funny.

Billy’s hand tightened briefly in his. “Yeah, mighta seen it once or twice. I thought the dweebs weren’t too bad?”

“They’re not. They're really not—I’m just, I'm drunk. Hey, what about _your_ surprises?”

“What about them?”

“I haven’t seen any,” said Steve. He started tracing a fingertip over the lines in Billy’s palm.

“Showed you my fucked up fingers,” said Billy softly. His voice was so close. They were both curled up on their seats, facing each other.

“Gimme another.”

Billy’s eyes dropped low, and it made him look so good. Steve almost couldn’t look at him. Billy gently flipped their hands over so Steve’s palm was facing up. His calloused thumb smoothed over it a couple times.

“I can read palms,” said Billy.

Steve felt a dopey smile split his face. “No you can’t. Wait—Really?”

Billy’s smile was small and soft. “My Ma taught me.”

“Okay—can you read mine?”

He swiped his thumb over Steve’s hands a couple more times, before bringing it closer to his face. “Hm,” he muttered. “ _ Hmmm _ .”

“What? Am I dyin’? Shit I’m dying,” said Steve.

“Okay, so this is your lifeline,” said Billy finally, smoothing his thumb down a long line.

“Yeah, my lifeline. Got it.”

“Yours is pretty interesting. You see those loops?” Billy pointed to them.

“Yeah—man just tell me if I’m dying.”

“Well, those loops can only mean one thing,” said Billy.

“Oh my _god_ asshole, what?”

He smoothed over Steve’s hand one final time before giving it back. “It means you’re a hopeless loser.”

Steve scoffed. “ _ Wow _ asshole, okay, alright—gimme your hand! Think I saw something interesting on there too!” He tried to reach for Billy’s hand again, but he kept pulling it away at the last second.

Wham ! was playing in the background and they were laughing. Steve felt really good. He felt even better when he finally caught Billy’s hand. His gave Steve a couple tugs.

“C’mere,” said Billy, and Steve clambered very gracefully over the center console. He settled onto Billy’s lap. He was a lot taller than him this way. He could see all the different curls at the back of his head and he wanted to run his hands through them. 

Billy’s hands settled on his hips, his thumbs threaded through Steve’s belt loops. His eyes were hooded again. Steve thought he looked—Jesus, like a movie star or something. The space between them felt physical, the same way it felt when they’d barely talked to each other. Well, they didn’t talk too much now.

It had weight or something. Steve hooked his finger under the waistband of Billy’s jeans. He could feel the wiry thatch of hair there, and it sent goosebumps down his arms thinking about touching Billy again. Even just a little.

Billy tugged him closer by his belt loops. Shit. He could feel how hard Billy was now, the line of his cock resting against Steve’s ass. He tried not to make any dumb noises but it felt so good to move against him. He’d been half-hard for a while, but straddling Billy, feeling his cock press against him, got him all worked up.

Billy ran a light finger over his zipper. Steve shivered. “I think you have a few more surprises in you Stevie,” said Billy, his voice low and gravelly.

He popped Steve’s button open and slowly pulled down his zip. He was stupidly wearing briefs, so his cock was an obvious line between his parted fly. Billy touched his finger to his head, tracing its outline with a feather-light touch. His cock pulsed against Billy’s finger. Jesus he was so hard. It almost hurt. Billy traced down the length of him, over his balls, and back up again. He plucked at the elastic waistband.

“Show me,” said Billy, licking at his lips.

Steve swallowed a couple times. He pulled the elastic of his briefs slowly down over his cock, revealing the flushed head. Billy made a low sound in his throat. He tucked the elastic beneath Steve’s balls and appraised him. He wasn’t even touching him. His cock gave another embarrassing kick.

Steve could still feel the hard line of Billy’s cock beneath him, so he ground against him, gratified to hear the little grunt Billy made when he did. Leaning closer, Steve whispered, “I wanna see you too.”

Billy’s throat bobbed. He didn’t immediately move. “C’mon,” said Steve, nosing along the side of his jaw. “Show me how to touch you. Show me what you like. I'm not good at this, remember?”

Billy let out a shuddering breath, then he shifted Steve up against the dashboard so he could get his belt and fly undone. When he moved Steve back, his cock jutted between them, flushed and hard. Steve gripped the base of his own dick, just to give himself some pressure.

He wetted his lips a few times. Really, he couldn’t stop staring. Billy looked so fucking good. Even his cock looked good. “Touch yourself,” whispered Steve. “I wanna see.”

Billy made another small noise. His gripped the base lightly, then gave himself a few lazy strokes. He didn’t touch himself the way Steve did. Steve liked a hard grip, just to get it over with. Billy was playing with himself. His fist stopped at the head of his cock, nearly covering it. Between the shadow of his knuckles, Steve could see it glistening. He reached out with his free hand and Billy slid his fist down so Steve could touch him.

He smeared the wetness around his head, gentle circles with his thumb that made Billy’s breath deepen. He felt mesmerized. Billy’s hand gently curled around his, and he moved them together. His cock was warm and slick beneath his palm. Every time they slid over the head Billy shuddered.

“Shit, man,” he breathed, "that’s gonna make me come.” His head was rested in the junction between Steve’s shoulder and neck, and between them, their hands were working slowly over his cock. Billy’s knuckles kept brushing over his length, and he honestly thought he could maybe come from that alone. 

Steve took his hand away, kind of reluctantly. “I wanna see,” he whispered. Billy’s had kept moving over himself, but faster now. Both their heads were bent between them, watching him stroke himself. Steve gripped his own cock again. Even just the slightest touch felt like too much.

“ _ Shit _ ,” said Billy, fist stopping at the base of his cock. The muscles in his stomach jumped. A spurt of come leaked over his head, then a stream of it, shooting between them. Steve moaned watching him. His cock was throbbing under his palm. 

Some of Billy’s come fell onto him, so he wiped it up with his hand and used it to ease the glide of his hand. Billy’s fist was still loosely wrapped around himself, but he kept moving it over his softening cock while he watched him. Steve could feel the weight of his stare. Billy watched him intently, his mouth slack and eyes nearly black. 

Steve’s whole body tightened up. He felt like he couldn’t fucking breathe. His cock pulsed in his hand and a flood of come dribbled over his knuckles and got on his and Billy’s shirts.

They were both breathing hard. Steve felt drunk—well, he was fucking drunk—but he felt, he felt some type of way. He didn’t even feel weird sitting on Billy Hargrove’s lap, his cock softening between them, covered in both their come.

Steve wiped his hand off on his jeans, then reached into his back pocket for a cigarette. He lit up two. Billy cranked the window down, and they smoked in silence. It didn't feel too weird. 

One of Billy’s hands was back on his hip, his thumb stroking over the skin where his shirt had ridden up. Steve didn’t know if he was even aware he was doing that.

Suddenly, Billy broke out into a grin. He started laughing.

“What?” said Steve.

“Man,  Wham!’s been on this whole time,” laughed Billy. Huh. Steve had barely noticed. He’d been a little preoccupied.

Sure enough, "The Edge of Heaven" was playing. Steve laughed too

 

 

  
Somehow they fell into some kind of asynchronous step with one another. He didn’t really go more than a couple days without seeing Billy now. Steve kept waiting for it to fall apart. For Billy to tell him Steve was bullshit, but that hadn’t happened yet. 

He still didn’t like to stick around after hooking up, but Steve could usually coax him into a cigarette. Longer if he had weed. Billy got extra creative with his words when he was high.

Today, he’d actually convinced him to go to Ria’s. In public. In daylight.

Billy looked at him with a vaguely disgusted look as he upended the sugar container into his mug. “What the fuck are you doing to that coffee Harrington?” he said, rubbing at his eyes. They were bloodshot. Probably from staying up all night.

He’d met him at the quarry this time, around midnight. Usually, they parted ways after the customary single cigarette, but last night they’d accidentally fallen asleep, waking up around six to blinding sunlight.

“I don’t like it bitter,” he said, blowing on it.

“Or drinkable.”

“It’s too early for your comedy routine.”

Billy stuck to tea, which Steve found oddly domestic. He kind of pictured Billy choking down black coffee in the mornings, maybe followed by swigs of bottom shelf whisky. But he was coming to find out a lot of stuff about Billy that he wouldn’t expect. Like his hair frizzed up in the rain—something he got oddly embarrassed about. And he had a coffee stain birthmark on the back of his calf. That had taken a lot of sleuthing to find since he was so tan.

_ And. _ He liked _Annie Hall_.   

Billy leaned his cheek against his palm, looking tired and lazy. “You have work today?” he said.

Steve nodded. “At twelve.”

He turned a wicked grin on him. “You know, I’ve never seen this uniform of yours.”

“I don’t see any reason you’d ever need to.”

Steve choked down more coffee, trying to ignore Billy considering him with one finger pushed against his lip. “It’s supposed to get real hot today.”

“Don’t,” said Steve.

“And when it gets real hot, I usually find myself craving—"

“No, _ stop _ !”

“I  _ usually _ find myself craving some ice cream.”

Their waitress set their food down. Steve glared at his toast like it personally offended him. “Don’t start something you don’t plan on finishing.”

“Oh Harrington, I’m no quitter.” His grin widened, revealing perfectly white teeth. Distantly Steve heard the door chime, and Billy’s face fell so quickly he spun around to see who’d stepped in.

The morning sun caught in Nance’s baby hairs, and she looked sort of angelic or something. He waved at her. She was by herself, little messenger bag slung over her shoulders. It was weighed down with towels and sunscreen. She was probably headed to a shift at the pool. She smiled at him when she noticed him waving.

Even now Nancy’s smile did things to him. Kinda like Billy’s, said a small voice. Shit, Billy’s smile was truly something to look at. When it was genuine. Steve knew what that looked like now. But he definitely wasn’t smiling right then.

He was too busy glaring at Nancy over the lip of his mug.

Nancy stopped by their table, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. “Hey you,” she said. “Surprised to see you up so early.”

“Okay, I can get up before ten.”

“Mm, I’ve never seen it.” She looked over at Billy, who kinda looked like an indignant cat, all bristled up. Steve wondered if Nancy and him had any sort of history. They’d been in school a whole year longer than him and Billy. “I didn’t know you guys hung out.”

“Oh, me and Harrington have been pretty friendly recently,” he said, grinning. This one definitely wasn’t genuine. Jesus.

Nancy looked between them, mouth pinching up.

“It’s new,” said Steve quickly.

“Oh. I’m glad you’ve, uh, worked out your differences…”

“We’ve worked out a lot more than that,” said Billy like a complete shitstain.

Steve kicked him under the table and nearly winced at the glare Billy shot him. He was really getting pissed off, Steve could tell. He needed to tamp this fire out before one or both of them said something spectacularly stupid.

“So, um, you headed to work?” he said.

Nancy looked relieved at the change in conversation. She hiked her messenger bag higher on her shoulder. “Yeah, but it’s only a half day. Shouldn’t be too bad. Um—I’m actually glad I saw you. Allison’s going to be in town in a couple of weeks. She asked about you...”

Oh shit. Nancy had given him her number a couple weeks ago, and the paper was still wadded up inside his swim trunks. He’d have to take it out before doing the wash. “Yeah, I’ve been super busy,” he lied. “But if she’s coming down, we should all hang out.”

He looked at Billy. He had his chin propped in his hand, face blank. “Yeah, let’s all hang out,” he drawled.

Nancy’s mouth pinched up even further like she was physically containing her thoughts. Slowly, she dipped her chin down. “I’ll try to set something up. Alright, I better order before it gets too late. Nice seeing you Steve, and uh, Billy.”

“Wheeler,” said Billy.

Steve awkwardly waved her off. When she was out of earshot, he chanced a look across the table. For some reason, he felt guilty. Like he’d misstepped again. Going around with Billy was a precarious business, he’d found. Too many opportunities to fuck up.

And he kinda didn’t want to fuck this up. That thought had been cropping up more and more, whenever he felt in danger of spooking Billy off. The thought whispered through him now, feeling more concrete. He wanted to be friends with Billy Hargrove.

And more importantly, he wanted _Billy_ to want that.

“So...my uniform? You are gonna  _ love _ it,” he said slowly.

Billy remained unmoved. He’d pushed his plate away from him even though it was only halfway finished. His arms crossed his chest. “You gonna hit that girl up?” he said, scratching at his jaw.

“Who, Allison?”

“Unless you’re still thinking ‘bout Wheeler.”

Steve felt himself make a face. “No. Me and Nancy are totally done. She’s with Byers now. So.”

Billy’s head cocked slightly to the side. His tongue parted the seam of his lips, just the tip. “But if she wasn’t, maybe you’d hit it again?”

“Hit it…” he scoffed. “Probably not. Uh, it didn’t work out. Twice. So, you know. Don’t have high hopes for a third time.”

“But third time’s the charm,” he said like Steve was the butt of an inside joke.

Anxiety prickled at him, this cold falling sensation that started in his gut. He felt the same way when Dad asked about school or joining the company. “It’s not gonna happen,” he said, shrugging.

“So what about her little friend?”

“Um. I don’t really know her.”

“Already fucked her once,” he said.

Steve was really starting to feel weird. “Do you, like, want me to hit her up?”

Billy lifted a shoulder. “I don’t really care about who you fuck.”

He hunted Billy’s face, trying to pick out anything that might give some insight into what he was thinking. But he remained unreadable.

Steve worried at his lip. “Okay. Well, I don’t really know if I just want to fuck some random girl. I’m not, uh, really into doing that? Anymore.”

His frown lifted the barest amount, just a levelling of his lips, but even that lightened his glower. “Whatever you say, King Steve.”

Steve tried to smile. He thought he mostly succeeded. “Are you done busting my balls? Or can we go back to discussing me in a sailor uniform?”

Billy’s lip twitched, like he couldn’t help himself. Now this smile was genuine. “Yeah, I am gonna need  _ way  _ more details.”

 

 

Steve took it upon himself to sweep the front floor, to wipe down the display glass, to take inventory of the fridge, and even to refill the topping dispensers. Only so he wouldn’t have to think about Billy stopping by. Or Robin meeting him.

His stomach roiled. Robin kept shooting him Looks, something else he was trying to drown out with work. She handed him over a dry rag when the rush finally thinned out.

He took it, confused.

“Thought you might want to polish the scoops. Or maybe wipe down the register. Just in case you missed some dust,” she said, hopping onto the counter.

He frowned at her. “Wow, you’re a real comedian. You should be on stage.”

“Somethin’ eating at you Stevie? Maybe  _ someone _ ?”

He threw the rag at her face, but disappointingly, she caught it in one hand. “I can’t do this with you right now,” he huffed.

“You seem very flustered.”

" _Sorry_ I’m just trying to be a good employee.”

“Our very own Julia Childs,” said Robin.

Steve spun around, hands flying to his hips like Mr. Mom. “No, okay— _okay_ , if I'm acting up, what's  your deal? You only smoke two joints instead of three?”

She hopped off the counter. “I’m saving the last one for someone special.”

She waggled her brows. If he ever needed to blow off steam, it was right now. “Jesus, thank God. I thought you’d never ask.”

Then the bell rang, summoning their attention to the floor.

Steve blinked dumbly at Billy and Max leaning against his newly cleaned display glass like shitheels. Robin took one look at his face and started grinning her head off.

“Hey, can we get some service over here? We’d  _ really _ like some ice cream,” said Billy like an even  _ bigger _ shitheel.

“Do you wanna take them, or should I?” said Robin.

“Fuck you,” said Steve, stalking out to meet his fate. Billy took one glance at him and cracked a smile so big and bright Steve couldn’t even feel embarrassed. He smiled back, feeling all warm like a doofus.

“Oh, Harrington. I knew this was gonna be good, but you really undersold yourself. Give us a spin,” said Billy, twirling his finger.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Shut it. What can I get you guys?”

“I don’t know about Max here but I’m feeling suddenly  _ ravenous _ . Make me something good,” said Billy, drumming his fingers on the counter.

“Max?” he said, raising an eyebrow at her. She looked like she was really getting a kick out of Billy. Her expression seemed almost fond.

“I’ll just eat some of Billy’s,” she said.

He cuffed her over the head. “Like hell you will. Just make us two of whatever you’re making me.”

“Ice cream surprise, coming right up,” said Steve, grabbing a scoop and sliding the glass back. He heard Robin come up behind him and then something landed on his head. He frowned at his reflection in the glass.

“Don’t forget your hat,  _ sailor Steve _ ,” said Robin.

Leaning over the glass, she extended a hand to Billy. “Hey, I’m Robin. You’re Billy right?”

He gave Steve a kind of panicked look but took her hand. “Guess I’ve got a reputation,” said Billy carefully.

“Nah, Steve’s just mentioned hanging around with you a couple times,” she said.

He nodded at her but still looked on edge. Steve finished off his ice cream cup with some whipped cream.

“Want a cherry?” said Robin, already screwing open the jar.

“Uh. Sure,” said Billy. Steve had never seen him look so unsure of himself. He was even fidgeting with a button on his stupidly unbuttoned shirt.

She dropped two cherries on top of his cup and one onto Max’s. “These are on the house,” said Robin, winking as she slid the cups across the counter.

Billy took a bite and hummed. “Chocolate?” he said, looking at Steve.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Our chocolate is  _ really _ good,” said Robin.

Steve hit her on the shoulder. “Did you—is that okay? I can make you something else,” he said.

Billy shook his head. He took another, bigger bite. “Nah, it’s good. I like chocolate,” he said.

“Me too,” said Steve.

Max looked between them with a mildly disgusted expression. “Are you done flirting? Can we sit down now?”

Billy levelled her with an impressive glare. “Man, shut up. Don’t make me regret bein’ nice to you.”

“Hey, what’re you doing tonight?” said Robin suddenly, scrubbing at a smudge on the counter. Billy frowned at her.

“You talkin’ to me?”

“Sure am,” said Robin.

Okay, Billy was definitely fidgeting. It was kind of cute to see him look so unsure for once. “Dunno,” he said slowly. He looked at Steve with a questioning look.

“Robin and I were gonna catch a movie,” he explained.

“You should definitely come,” she said, leaning toward him with her chin propped in her palm.

Billy cocked his hip against the counter, eating measured spoonfuls of ice cream. Popping off his spoon with a truly sinful noise, he pointed the utensil at Steve. “What movie?”

“ _Alien_ ,” whispered Robin, like it was some big secret.

“Think you can handle that, Harrington?”

“Shut up. I said I didn’t like horror movies, not that I couldn’t handle them.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” said Billy, going back to sucking on his spoon.

“So you’re in?” said Robin.

He shrugged. “Sure. Nothin’ better to do around here.”

“Great. It’s a date,” she said. Steve made some undignified noise. He shoved his hat onto her head and down over her eyes.

“ _S_ _ hut _ it sailor Robin,” he said.

She laughed, thinking she was so funny. Billy kept sucking on his spoon.

“It’s a date,” he said softly. He tapped the counter with his knuckle, then shoved his free hand into the back of his amazingly tight jeans. Steve watched him and Max walk away until they were seated at a table in the food court. Robin had another Look on her face. 

“You hear that? It’s a date,” she whispered, all conspiratorial.

“Wow,” he snapped, dragging his attention away. “You owe me  _ two joints _ now.”

 

+++

 

Billy didn’t know if he was paranoid or if Steve’s friend knew something about them. He hadn’t really considered the possibility that Steve would go blabbing about him. He was used to being a dirty secret. It made him mad and relieved in equal parts. Well, in  _ some _ kind of parts anyways. 

Neil was out at the bar, watching the game with a couple work buddies, and Susan was catching up on her read for book club,  _ A Picture of Dorian Grey _ , which Billy refused to read after a teacher back in California pointedly gifted it to him before summer break of his freshman year.

That left him and Max lazing around the living room like a couple of sad sacks. Max, because Sinclair was in Chicago for the week on a family vacation, and him so he wouldn’t glare the clock down waiting for 8:00. That’s when he was meeting Harrington and his girl at the Hawk. Well, not his _ girl, _ girl.

He couldn’t be sure Harrington wasn’t trying to get with her, but he had a niggling feeling he wasn't. To be honest, he was wondering if she was queer like him. Not that every girl with short hair was some dyke, but most of ‘em were. It was just facts.

Maybe he should introduce her to Harrington’s little bird—Allison, was it? Billy grinned, cracking himself up. Wheeler would love that. Her white bread girl going for a dyke.

Jesus. He thought he’d really get into it with Harrington earlier today, which wasn’t ideal after they’d had a good night hooking up.

Of course, Harrington went and fell asleep almost immediately after Billy got him off, leaving him with serious blue balls. Normally he’d be ticked about that, but he’d gotten to watch Harrington sleep, which should have made him feel sleazy, but instead made him feel really queer again. That was about usual now.  

It was probably time to admit that he liked being around Harrington. Really liked seeing his stupid dimples because it meant he was smiling. Harrington said so much shit, could probably talk Van Goh’s  _ other _ ear off, but some of it truly tickled Billy. He liked humoring his dumb jokes.

Occasionally he told him stories about his King Steve days, before Billy even knew he existed. He never talked about him and Nancy. Either because he was still tied up on her, or because he’d figured out Billy didn’t like hearing about it. Which he didn’t.

Not truly for the reasons Harrington might think. Sure, he was a jealous prick. But, mostly, he didn’t like seeing someone like Steve fall under the spell of some cunt lording herself above him like a carrot stick. Billy could see it sure as day Wheeler liked her special place in Steve’s life. Sure, she didn’t want to fuck ‘im anymore, but she’d probably feel sorry if he didn’t want to fuck  _ her _ .

He wondered if she liked parading her little friend in front of Steve, secure in the knowledge he was still hung up on her.

It’d figure.

Then he wondered what she’d think about Steve and him. Not that he’d truly taken Steve from Nancy. But he’d commanded enough of his attention away from her that it might smart when she noticed.

That thought felt real good.

“Why are you smiling like that? It makes you look crazy,” said Max. She was sprawled across the couch with her feet kicked over the armrest. Probably because she knew his old man was out of the house. Even she knew not to pull that shit with him.

“Mm,” he said, biting at a hangnail. “Just picturin’ the face you make when Sinclair’s around. It’s real funny.”

She lobbed a pillow at him. “ _ Rude _ ! You know he’s not gonna be home until next  _ Friday _ ?”

“The horror,” said Billy. “Your face will look normal for five whole days.”

She lobbed another pillow at him. This one really did hit him. He shoved it behind his head, throwing his own feet up.

“You’re  _ such _ an asshole.” Max kept looking at him, squinting like she was weighing her words. When he looked over at her, she had a weird expression. He thought he knew all her expressions, but he didn't know this one. 

"Man, what?" he said.

She played with the hem of her shirt, looking away from him. “You know, you never apologized. To him.”

“Didn’t feel sorry,” said Billy, even though that wasn’t strictly true. He was sorry for shaking up a kid. He wasn’t sorry for tryna keep Max from grabbin' Neil's attention. Sometimes he still had nightmares about his old man catching Maxine with Sinclair in the house or somethin'. Killing both of 'em. Then he killed Billy too for letting it happen. 

She kept looking at him. He examined the TV like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “Do you? Now?” she said. 

“Max, c’mon,” he sighed. 

“ _ What _ ?! Okay, well what about Steve?” 

He finally looked at her. She still had that weird look. “What about Steve?” he sneered. 

She was unmoved. “Did you apologize? For almost killing him?”

“I didn’t almost  _ kill _ him. Jesus."

“Yeah, because I  _ stopped _ you.'

“Max, I’m not doin’ this shit with you right now.” 

“He’s your friend and you literally beat his face in! Don’t you think you should apologize?” She was dangerously close to yelling.

He’d already crossed that line. Billy sat up so quickly the pillow fell off the couch. “He ain’t my fuckin friend. Listen, Harrington’s a pain in my ass who can’t take a fuckin’ punch. Which, if you’ll remember  _ Maxine _ , he threw the first one. Okay? So fuckin’ drop it.”

Her face got so red he thought she might pass out or something. When she let out her breath, it was shaky. “Do you really believe that?”

_ No _ .

“Who the fuck cares what I believe? Doesn’t change what happened.”

“Okay,” said Max, voice becoming small. She settled back into the couch. They sat in miserable silence looking at the TV. Then she said, still in a small voice, “You still going on your date?”

“It’s not a fucking date,” said Billy, still feeling riled up.

“Whatever. Are you going?”

“Yeah,” he said, scratching at his head.

“Kay, then you better get ready now. Or you’ll be late.”

He looked at his watch. It was a quarter til eight. Shit. He’d barely have time to fuck with his hair.

 

+++

 

The trailers were already playing when Billy showed up. Steve watched him weave his way down the aisle to where he and Robin sat. When Billy reached them, he paused. Robin immediately dumped her purse onto the seat beside her.

“This one’s taken,” she said, chewing loudly around the stem of a blow pop.

Billy rolled his eyes and settled down next to Steve. He kept his arms crossed, never in danger of accidentally touching him, but the idea that he  _ could _ touch him, just by leaning over, was enough.

“Popcorn?” said Steve, tilting the bag toward him. Billy glared at it. Now that Steve was really looking at him, he didn’t seem too happy. It made him feel instantly bad like maybe he’d badgered him into doing something he didn’t want to do. Maybe he had another date later. That made him feel instantly sulky.

Billy’s eyes darted over his face. The more he looked at him, the more relaxed the set of his mouth became. Placating, he took a couple popcorn pieces.

“Thanks,” he said, immediately crossing his arms again.

The trailers ended and the little screen cautioning them not to talk during the movie popped up. Obviously, Steve leaned over to start talking—really, he was almost as bad as Dustin.

“Have you seen this one before?” he said, getting as close to Billy as he could get away with.

“Don’t really go out to the movies too much,” he whispered back.

“It’s supposed to be really good,” he said.

Billy half-turned his face, and if Steve hadn’t leaned back on instinct, their lips would have brushed. An immediate flush crept up his face. That was a wild thought. Imagine laying one on Billy Hargrove in public. He could barely even think it.

When he refocused himself, Billy was staring at him like he was amusing, one eyebrow cocked. “You hear me Harrington?” he said.

“Uh, sorry no. What’d you say?”

“Nothin’. Just that Max has been bugging me forever to take her to this.”

“Really? Why didn’t you bring her?” he said.

Billy’s eyes flattened. He turned back to the screen, shrugging up one shoulder. “Figured watching with you would be hell enough.”

Steve settled back into his own seat, a little reluctantly. He couldn’t say why, but he felt weird. It wasn’t quite a misstep, but something close, like any minute now he’d really put his foot in his mouth.

“Quit blabbing, the movie’s starting,” Robin hissed, way louder than he’d been talking.

“What? I already quit blabbing.  _ You _ quit blabbing!” he hissed back. When he looked at him, Billy was smiling. A genuine smile too, fond even. Maybe. Okay, he didn’t want to get ahead of himself. The weird feeling crept away and he smiled back. Cast in the flickering light from the screen, he looked kind of beautiful.

Not the way Nancy was beautiful. But beautiful in the absence of any other word to describe him.

He totally had to go and break the spell by telling Steve he had a crumb on his face but whatever. Beautiful. Billy looked really beautiful. 

Steve managed to make it a third of the way through the movie before he felt the itch to start blabbing again, as Robin would say. “Man, I don’t really think aliens would look like that,” he said to Billy. They’d been sharing the popcorn bag, and his hand paused halfway in it now.

Billy cocked another eyebrow. “Yeah and what would they look like?”

Steve‘s throat clicked. He knew exactly what they’d look like. “Way worse than that,” he said.

Billy looked at the screen then back to Steve. “You think so? Those are some pretty ugly motherfuckers.”

“Yeah. Think they’d be even uglier.”

“Okay,” said Billy slowly. He withdrew his hand from the bag, wiped his palms along his thighs. “Paint me a picture, Harrington.”

The entire past two years flooded him with images and sounds and words. He imagined a timeline where he could shift some of that burden onto another set of shoulders. Billy’s maybe.

Licking his lips, he leaned even closer to him, his nose brushing the fine baby hairs curling around his ear. Billy tilted his head until they touched. Goosebumps rushed along his arms and legs.

“Think they’d be smaller, for one,” he whispered, hunting over the demogorgan in his mind for the right words. The right picture. “No eyes, because they like the dark. And their mouth...it would open so wide, all you’d see were teeth. Teeth all the way to their throat.”

“That’s a pretty ugly picture,” said Billy after a long pause.

Steve leaned away. “Yeah. It is.”

Billy kept looking at him. He saw the gold of his hair flash in the corner of his eye, right as the scene changed. “You’re a pretty weird guy, Harrington,” he said. The tension between them broke. He shoved his hand into the popcorn and flung a piece at him, hitting Billy in the side of the face.

“No, no okay—you don't even wear shirts in the winter time! You don't get to call me weird!”

Billy gaped at him, then smiled bigger than Steve had ever seen before. It kind of transformed his face. His eyes glittered with warmth, and his tongue poked out between his white teeth.

“One, it’s summer. And two, what does this look like to you, huh?” He plucked at his black T-shirt, dislodging the fallen popcorn kernel. “Should we poll the room—hey Robin!”

Steve sank down in his seat because Billy was drawing looks to them. He couldn’t stop smiling like a doofus.

When she levelled him with an unimpressed look, he plucked at his shirt again. “What would you call this?”

“A dumbass,” she said sweetly.

Billy threw a piece of popcorn at her.

“ _ Hey _ ! Some people are trying to watch these  _ other _ people die in peace!” she snapped.

Steve leaned into him again, nosing at his baby hairs. His lips were practically pushed against the soft skin of his neck. Billy stilled against him. “You hear that? We’re missing people dyin’,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” he said, voice coming out even softer. “Some people are runnin’ their mouth and talking shit.” Jesus he looked cute acting all disgruntled, thought Steve. He pressed further against his neck, one quick touch, then moved back again. In case anyone wanted to look their way.

Billy cleared his throat like there was something stuck in it, sinking further down into his seat.

He didn’t know what he was tryin’ to do, honestly. If Billy was a girl, they’d already be necking and neither of them would get to see anyone die. He didn’t even know if this was a real date.

He decided to keep his arm on their shared armrest, pressed warmly against Billy’s. Their pinkies kept brushing.

“Gotta run to the bathroom. Anyone want anything?” he said around halfway through.

Robin whispered all dramatically, “Twizzlers!”

“Twizzlers, gotcha. Billy?” He brushed his hand with his pinky again.

Billy bit at his lip, then shook his head. “Nah, I’m good.” When Steve kept looking at him, he said, “What, you want help pissing or somethin’?”

He couldn’t stop staring at his lips caught between his teeth. “Uh,” he said like a genius, “thought you could help me carry some things.”

Billy’s face broke out into a smirk. “Sure thing, Harrington.”

“ _ Twizzlers _ Steve!” Robin called behind him. He waved at her absently with his hand.

 

+++

 

Billy followed Harrington into the men’s bathroom, where he pulled him into a stall and pushed him against the door. Harrington’s mouth immediately latched onto his throat, biting at delicate skin. It almost seemed like he was trying to devour him or something, the way he mapped over every inch of him with his lips. Billy felt kind of overwhelmed by it. He didn’t even know what to do with his hands. In the end, he placed them on Steve’s back, clutching at his shirt. 

“Been waiting all night to do this,” Steve whispered against his neck.

His teeth raked over a particularly sensitive spot, pulling an embarrassing noise from him. Billy didn’t think his neck was all that sensitive before now. “You’re so fucking hot, man,” Steve went on, pushing a hand up under Billy’s shirt.

He toyed with a nipple and Billy shuddered out a breath, arching against him like some chick. There was something about Harrington touching him this way that made him feel insane. Sick almost. He felt light-headed with the rush of blood to his cock, hard and trapped in his jeans, and short of breath with his chest constricting at each touch of his hands.

Steve kept one hand plucking at his nipple while his mouth worked over his neck. It felt tender now, and each graze of teeth jolted his cock. “Gonna leave a mark,” he choked out.

Steve’s mouth stilled against him but his thumb kept on rubbing slow circles across his nipple. Billy wondered if he could come just from this, without a hand ever touching him. Shit, that’d be embarrassing.

“Want me to stop?” said Steve.

“No,” he said immediately, dragging his hands from their place on Harrington’s back up into his hair, pulling him closer.

In response, Steve bit down hard at the junction between his neck and shoulder.

“Fuck,” said Billy, hips stuttering.

“God, man. You know, I’ve been doin’ some reading. Kinda want to try something,” said Steve, pulling away long enough to fumble a hand between them. He pressed his palm against his cock, rubbing slowly.

He choked down a mouthful of spit, then practically choked it back up when Harrington slid onto his knees. Ho-ly fucking shit. Billy felt the concept of human language leave him.

“Must’ve been some fuckin’ read,” Billy managed to croak out.

Steve shot him a lopsided grin, which quickly melted away when he found himself confronted with Billy’s dick in his face.  For all he was acting smooth tonight, leading Billy in here like some professional queer, Steve actually looked kind of nervous.  

His hands had a tremor to them when he undid Billy’s belt and zip, and Billy almost wanted to tell him he didn’t need to prove anything. In fact, they could forget about this, get those Twizzlers, he wouldn’t even be mad or nothin’—and then Steve slipped him gently into his mouth.

His lungs constricted, capturing his breath. Steve just rested him in his mouth for a moment, then rolled his tongue slowly over his head. He brought a hand up to his shaft, gripped him tight. Billy finally released that breath. Dark spots floated in front of his eyes, interfering with the spectacular view of Harrington on his knees.

Billy didn’t want to touch him in case he freaked him out, so he kept his hands clenched at his sides. Harrington started off real rough. He brought Billy too far back a couple times, coming off him with a cough and an apology, before finally getting the hang of it. Well, he kind of picked up a rhythm. He also kept catching Billy with his teeth and forgetting to move his hand when he moved his mouth, and overall it was the best fucking blowjob he’s ever gotten in his life.

Jesus, he couldn’t stop looking at Steve with his cheeks hollowed out, his plush lips wet and red around his cock. His eyes watering up with tears. Was a pretty fucking sight. Even with the dancing spots in front of his eyes, it was kind of out of this world.

Billy wasn’t going to last. He was too keyed up from sitting next to Harrington in a dark theater, enduring his whispering and the damp brush of his breath.

“Harrington man, um,” Billy reached tentatively down between them to grab Steve’s hand. He meant to slow him down, but Steve swirled his tongue again, and  _ shit _ fucking shit.

“ _ Steve _ .” He yanked at Steve’s hair in warning. His throat spasmed around his cock, tipping him over the edge. Head thrown back against the stall, he came in Steve’s mouth. The world kind of whited out, returning in fractions.

Steve struggled to swallow him, and what he didn’t get kind of dribbled down his chin. He pulled away from him with a cough, lips reddened and slick. Billy couldn’t fucking breathe. He looked down his body at Steve, who was wiping a hand roughly across his mouth. God, he looked so fucking good. They stared at each other in silence. Billy looked away first, trying to tuck himself away with shaking hands.

“That was—shit. Really good,” said Steve, standing on creaky knees. His voice sounded hoarse.

Billy didn’t think he could reliably talk yet. He concentrated on righting his belt, smoothing down his shirt. When he looked up, he noticed Steve’s cock cutting a long line down his pant’s leg, so he moved to touch him. That’s something he knew how to do. But Steve shifted away.

“Yeah, I’ll take care of that later,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about you, man. Been thinking about doing that.”

Billy found he could barely look Steve in the eye, not when he was cupping his face and looking at him like—like he was Nancy Wheeler or something. He tried to make himself smile. “Looks like you need someone to take care of you now.”

Steve’s hands tightened in his hair, once, before he stepped away. “Nah, it’s okay. Robin’s probably wondering where we are anyways—you hungry by chance?”

 

“Yeah, yeah I could eat,” he breathed.

 

Robin pointedly told them she wasn’t hungry, leaving him and Harrington standing awkwardly alone in the parking lot, ensconced in a fog-filled cone of a streetlight. Steve was grinning at him like a little dork. They weren’t even really talking. His hands were in his pockets and he was bouncing on his feet. 

“You wanna see my fancy rich boy car?” he said.

Billy rubbed at his mouth. He looked back over at his Camaro.

“C’mon. I’ll drop you back off. Ria’s is right up the street, no use bringing both cars.”

He kept rubbing at his mouth. “You gonna treat me to a nice meal, pretty boy?”

Steve’s mouth twitched. “If you want, yeah. Dinner’s on me.”

If he was being honest, he did want to sit in Steve’s fancy rich boy car. He hitched his shoulder up. “You said it, man. Not me.”

Steve opened up his car door. “C’mon. Get in.”

Billy didn’t need to be told twice. He slid into the passenger seat and immediately lit up a cigarette without rolling the windows down just to see Harrington’s nose wrinkle up.

While Steve drove, Billy fucked with his tapes, lamenting his taste. “There’s a lot of Janis Joplin in here, Stevie. And Wham!”

He had the windows down and the night breeze whipped his hair around his face. When he looked over at him, it flew into his eyes and he had to scramble to get it out of the way. He snatched the tape out of Billy’s hand, throwing it into the center console. “My mom’s always listening to her.”

“She’s alright,” Billy conceded.

Steve kept fishing around in the console until he found the tape he was looking for. He popped it in, cranking it up. “She’s  _ great _ .”

By the time they pulled into Ria’s, it was nearly midnight. The parking lot was surprisingly full.

Billy didn’t know how he felt about queering around with Harrington in front of everyone, but Steve didn’t seem too concerned about it. He was in a real sunny mood again, wouldn’t stop fucking singing Joplin under his breath. Billy wanted to grab his face and shut him up with his mouth.

Shit, he really did. He guessed he’d been thinking about that more. Kissing Harrington like a proper queer. Just the thought of it agitated this overwhelming feeling. A rush of adrenaline.

“Hey, you alright?” laughed Steve.

Billy blinked at him. He’d been staring at him, zoning out. “Yeah, let’s go buy me some food.”

They grabbed a booth in the corner surrounded by windows so anyone could see Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington palling around.

Steve drummed his fingers on the table. “So, when do you get out of here again?”

For a second, he didn’t know what Harrington was talking about, and then he did. Shit, he’d actually forgotten about leaving for basic. “Bout five weeks,” he said.

Steve nodded, then smiled. It was a small smile. “A lot can happen in five weeks.”

Billy folded his arms on the table, resting his chin on top of them. He liked how Steve’s hair was sitting all crazy from the wind. He looked so good, even with the dark circles and stupid polo shirt. “What do you have in mind?”

Steve leaned forward too. His hands were right next to Billy’s. Wouldn’t take anything to reach over and touch him. He tucked his fingers into his fists.

“Maybe we’ll actually get to use my pool,” he said.

Billy smirked. “And the hot tub.”

“Oh, that’s definitely happening. But only if you wear those yellow swim shorts.”

“You like lookin at me in my yellow shorts?”

“They look really good man,” he said. Billy looked around them like Neil was staking out Ria’s just to catch his son acting like a faggot. He couldn’t believe he was just out here with Steve talking about his swim trunks.

“Yeah,” he said, “think I can work that out.”

Their waitress came and Steve ordered like five dinners and Billy stuck to a modest order of a burger and fries. He didn’t really expect Harrington to pick up the tab, but if he did, he didn’t want to put him out or anything. Even if he was rich.

They ate, and Billy gave him shit about pulling the pickles off his burger.

“Just ask for no pickles,” he said.

Steve wiped his mustard and ketchup-covered fingers down with a napkin. He shook his head. “Seems like too much trouble—hey, be right back. Gotta take a leak.”

Billy rolled his eyes at all that romance. He was totally eating Harrington’s pickles the moment he was gone. Steve slid out of the booth, but not before putting his card down on the table. He pushed it toward Billy. “Just give that to the waitress if she comes by before I get back.”

He nodded, spinning the card around to face him. Paul Harrington, the card read. Billy thought about Neil giving him twenty dollars after whaling on him. He wondered what reason Harrington’s old man had to give him the card.

By now, the diner crowd was dwindling, rolling over into the late night crowd, drunks swaying in from the one bar strip outside Hawkins.

In the booth behind them, a young couple sat close, giggling to each other. He kept getting hung up on each of the girl’s laughs. They were loud, punctuated by snorts.

Billy turned halfway to look at them. They were staring all longingly at each other. The guy ducked his head down, pressing his nose against his girl’s neck. No one batted an eye on them.

Their waitress smiled at Billy when she noticed him looking. Shit made his chest clench up. Not the way looking at Harrington sometimes did. He felt almost angry.

He turned carefully back around in the booth. When she’d finished settling the love bird’s bill, she moved on to their table. He pushed Steve’s card away and fumbled for his own wallet.

He handed her a twenty.

“Nothin’ like young love,” she muttered, counting back his change.

Billy scratched at his stubble. “Yeah,” he said, “nothin’ like it.”

 

+++

 

Steve kept looking over at Billy while he drove them back to the movie theater. He had his forehead pressed against the window, his mouth set into an unmoving line. 

He cranked the window down. Billy jolted, head falling forward. Steve already had a preemptive guilty look in place, ready to meet Billy’s glare.

“You’re thinking real hard over there,” he said.

Billy looked at him, then back to the window, pushing his face against the current of night air. He hitched a shoulder up. “Not thinkin’ bout anything,” he grumbled.

The Hawk reared in front of the car, and Steve swung around to the side parking lot, right next to the Camaro. He pushed the car into park but didn’t cut the engine.

Billy was shutting down on him. He already had that flat, impenetrable look on his face.

Steve kept looking at him, thinking about how empty that seat would seem on the ride back to his house, where he’d be alone again.

“You need to get goin?” he said.

Billy brought his watch up to his face. “Harrington. It’s one in the morning.”

“Yeah,  _ and _ ? You need to get home?”

Billy sucked on his teeth, glared out the open window. “What’d you have in mind?”

“There’s this field off the first exit on 42. It’s really nice at night. No lights. Just—uh, a lot of stars and shit.”

Billy snorted. “You’re tryin’ to take me stargazing?” He sounded almost pissed off.

“What? What’s wrong with that?”

“You really that hard up for a fuck?” said Billy.

Steve kept staring at him. He turned halfway in his seat, nearly leaning across the center console. “What are you fucking talking about?” he said.

Billy laughed, and it wasn’t a good sound. His tongue poked against the side of his cheek while he gathered his thoughts. When he looked back at Steve, his eyes were hooded. He said in this low voice, “You don’t need to go to all that trouble to get into my panties, baby. Just need to ask.”

“What - “

He slipped a deft hand over the console and between his legs. Steve tried to twist away. “What are you doing?”

“What’s wrong, pretty boy? Didn’t get to enjoy yourself earlier. Just trying to take care of you.”

He caught Billy’s wrist, pulling him away. “Woah, hey, wait. What’s wrong?”  

His eyes snapped open, and he tugged his hand away. “Nothin’s wrong. Why d’you always think something’s fuckin’ wrong?”

Steve combed back over the last half hour, searching for some erroneous misstep. Stupidly, he could only remember the good parts, like some glossy photo shining from page to page.

Billy released a hard sigh from his nose. He slumped against the seat, head banging back against the headrest. “Lemme ask you something,” he said slowly. “Why’d you wanna take me to the movies?”

Steve had been in the middle of composing a lecture, but the question drew him up short. “I—what? Because I wanted to? Man, what’s going on? Just, just tell me so I can apologize okay?”

“Jesus, you would, wouldn’t you? Apologize for some shit you didn’t even do if it made things normal. Fucking hell, man.”

“Uh,  _ yeah _ ! Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I  _ like _ normal! I like workin at my shitty normal job and going on normal dates to the movies. I like—doin’ normal stuff with you. Is that a fucking crime?”

Billy had his mouth open in a snarl to respond, but Steve realized he wasn’t done. “You know, you—you keep doing this. Flipping out on me or whatever, and I never know what Billy I’m gonna get—"

“Man, then stop fuckin’ looking for me. If I’m such a fucking headache, stop lookin for me, stop asking for me —“

“Shut up,” said Steve, and he realized he was yelling. No one made him feel the way Billy made him feel. The anger in his chest had weight, the same way his heart did. “Just—shut the  _ fuck _ up. Has it ever occurred to you that, that I wanted to take you to the movies just because, shit—just because.”

Fear seized him. It had him running his mouth. He wondered if this was the moment. The moment he’d finally upset their precarious balance for good, and Billy was going to storm out of his car and never talk to him again. Shit.  _ Shit _ .

Billy’s nostrils were flaring, his mouth pressed into a bloodless line. His eyes seemed bluer than they ever have before. The flashing blue of a burner flame. He made himself keep his stare.

“I asked you to come out because I wanted to see you,” said Steve, softer now.

Billy licked quickly at his bottom lip. “Just because I get your dick hard doesn’t mean—”

“Jesus, you’re unbelievable.” He grabbed a fistful of Billy’s shirt, mostly just to jostle him. And then he was kissing him. He didn’t realize that’s what he wanted to do until he was doing it.

Billy’s mouth was warm and unyielding beneath his own. He had about a second to enjoy the feeling before Billy shoved him away. His hand jumped to his lips, like Steve had cracked him across the mouth.

The blue in his eyes burned hotter.

Steve immediately put his hands up. “Shit, I’m sor—”

Billy pulled him in roughly by the back of his neck. His lips collided with Steve’s, a collision of teeth and tongues. He scrambled to undo his seatbelt, but Billy was already crawling over the console, settling into his lap.

Steve couldn’t catch his breath, not when Billy kept stealing it out of his mouth. His head felt full of air, like he might fucking pass out. Hands cupping Billy’s jaw, he stroked his thumbs across his cheeks, and Billy seemed to like that because his whole body shuddered under him. They weren’t even really kissing half the time, just pressing into each other. Dissolving, maybe.

They kissed until each touch became blurry meetings of the mouth rather than violent collisions. He bit at Billy’s plump bottom lip and pulled away from him, just far enough to rest his forehead against Billy’s. They shared the same breath, back and forth between them.

“Good?” he whispered.

Billy clutched at his hair harder. When he nodded, his nose brushed against Steve’s. He pressed a soft kiss to Billy’s mouth, then the corner of his mouth, travelling up to his ear. “Did I finally find your off button?” he said, now kissing the soft skin behind his ear.

A tremor ran through him again. Steve chased it up his back with a sweep of his hand. He had one cupped along Billy’s cheek and the other nested in his curls. When Billy tried to move away from him, he only pulled him closer. It wasn’t much of a struggle.

“I’d like to know where the hell your off button is,” he grumbled, but his voice came out rough. Steve pulled away from his neck so he could kiss him properly again.

“You’ll just have to keep looking,” he said. He reached down the side of the seat to fumble with the lever. They creaked backwards. Billy fell over him, his hair curtaining his face. Steve couldn’t stop staring at him.

He traced the slope of Billy’s nose, then his lips, his chin. Billy’s eyes fluttered at the contact. When he reached his ear, he curled his hand around the back of his neck again and pulled him in for another kiss. He thought this might be what it felt like to drown; running out of air, knowing so completely that you need it to live, and scrambling for that life-saving breath.

Billy’s mouth moved slowly against his until he wasn’t moving slowly anymore. Their rhythm picked up, getting more and more desperate.

“You’re so good,” Steve babbled, pressing the words against the side of Billy’s cheek. “So fucking good.”

“Christ,” he choked out.

Billy’s hips pressed into his own, and Steve distantly became aware of how hard he was. How hard Billy was. He made a soft sound when Steve pushed up against him too.

Without thinking too much about it, Steve slid his hands down Billy’s back, dipping his fingertips into the waistband of his jeans. He didn’t really even know what he was trying to do. Well, he had some kind of idea. What with his  _ reading _ and all. He kept his fingers where they were until Billy made another noise, encouraging.

“Yeah?” said Steve.

Billy nodded, deepening their kiss.

So Steve slid his hands the rest of the way into his jeans, over the smooth plane of his ass. He felt firm and warm under his palms. Steve gave him a gentle squeeze, urging his hips to grind down against his own.

“You’re gonna have to tell me if I do this wrong,” he said.

Billy blinked hazy eyes at him, then nipped at his bottom lip. “Shut up,” he said and reached behind himself to grab one of Steve’s hands. He brought it to his mouth, sucked on his fingers the way he sucked on his cock. Steve couldn’t look away from where they disappeared into the plush heat of his mouth. Billy sucked over his fingers until they were dripping, then sat up enough to shuck his pants down his thighs. His cock hung heavy and hard between them, rubbing against his own still trapped in his jeans.

Billy didn’t look at him while he maneuvered his hand down between his cheeks, over his hole. He pressed against Steve’s fingers. Steve soothed over his flank with his other hand while he pushed one finger against his opening until it slid past the initial resistance.

Heat enveloped his finger up to the knuckle. He felt so tight. Tighter than any pussy he’d ever fucked. And holy shit. This was  _ Billy _ . Billy was breathing hard above him, his forehead pressed to the junction of his shoulder and neck. Steve slid his free hand up Billy’s back and into his hair. He sighed at the contact.

“Okay?” he said.

“Fuck—yeah. Just, quit talking. Move already.”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “You like it when I talk.”

“ _ Harrington _ .” And Billy’s thighs were trembling, maybe from sustaining his position, and maybe not. So Steve experimentally crooked his finger, pushing it slowly in and out of Billy until the resistance disappeared. 

Billy started making breathy noises every time he pushed inside, and Steve wanted to remember them, wished he could fucking record them to play back later. He was so caught up in hearing Billy’s noises, in watching his eyes go hazy, in feeling the damp press of his sweat-slick curls drag over his cheeks, that he didn’t hear the alarm beep until Billy was pressing at his shoulders, moving off him.

“What’s wrong? Is that you?” He nodded to the watch on Billy’s wrist.

He pressed a button and the beeping stopped. Billy already had his pants pulled up again and his hand curled around the door handle.

“Neil—my old man. He’ll be up soon. I gotta get going.”

Oh. “Okay, shit. Yeah, sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to the time.” Steve still had his hands on Billy’s thighs, and he didn’t want to move them. He didn’t really want Billy to leave at all.

Billy shrugged up a shoulder. “Not like I was really paying attention either.” He pushed at the door until it swung open, but Steve pulled him back down before he could get out.

He brought Billy down into a soft kiss. It was relatively chaste, but his lips lingered over Steve’s. “Um, here—before you go,” he said, hitching up his hips so he could fish out his wallet. Billy frowned at him rummaging through the billfold.

He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, then reached for a pen in the center console. He wrote his number in big, sloppy numbers.

Billy stared at it, then back to Steve. He turned the page over, revealing Allison’s number on the back, and lifted an eyebrow.

Steve felt his face go hot. “Um. Just call me, I guess. I mean—I’d like it if you called me.”

Billy kept looking at the page. “This your girl’s number?” he said softly.

Steve nearly rolled his eyes. “She’s not my fucking girl.”

“Allison was it?”  

“Yeah. Look, call me, don’t call me—but, uh, you have it now. So.”

“Yeah,” said Billy, carefully folding the page back up and placing it in his pocket, “I do.” He swung his leg over Steve and strolled his way to the Camaro. Steve didn’t leave until well after he was gone.

 


	7. 7.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil doesn't cockblock Billy this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. Your comments are AMAZING? I love them. I love them with all my heart. I really hope everyone likes this chapter. Things will be wrapping up soon. I think there's gonna be 10 chapters, but it might be 11, depending on how it all shakes out. Please comment and leave a kudos if you feel like it. Your support has been absolutely everything <3

He barely remembered getting back into his car and driving all the way to Cherry. It was like he was drunk or something, thoughts taking his brain for a joyride outside his head. Their little house appeared in the distance. That jostled him awake. The gossamer memories of _Steve Steve Steve_ evaporated. He sat in his car for a couple moments eyeing the dark windows, the long wisps of grass. He’d have to cut that soon.

Neil was home. Sometimes he wasn’t. Sometimes they got real lucky and he travelled for work. Tonight, his old red Ford truck was parked neatly behind Susan’s Jeep. She asked him nicely to move it every morning. Billy thought his old man got a kick out of allowing Susan to leave.

It took a while for him to get back inside. The heat made the window frame swell, so it was stuck tight, and he had to use his pocket knife to jimmy it open. He also had to stop every couple seconds to listen for the sounds of anyone waking up. Finally, the window relented.

Billy crawled inside to his cool bedroom, the mingling scents of stale smoke and Susan’s carpet freshener hitting him. It was almost five. Soon, Susan would get up and put the coffee pot on for Neil. She’d putter around gathering stuff for breakfast. Now, the house seemed so still.

He lay on his bed, face pressed into his pillow, and thought _Steve Steve Steve_ again. His thighs were still tacky from Harrington working him open. A shudder travelled through him. Jesus fuck. Billy nosed at his pillow. He was still half-hard, just thinking about Steve kissing him. He felt almost drunk again.

Someone knocked at his door softly. He stopped breathing. It could be Susan. Susan askin’ him if he could cart Max around today. Sometimes she did that.

His door swung open. No one said anything. Billy kept himself so still, pretending to be asleep.

“Thought you might want some coffee,” said Neil finally. Billy swallowed a couple times. A funny ringing took up residence in his head. “You were out pretty late. Figured you'd need it to wake you on up.”

The carpet absorbed the sound of Neil’s boots. He picked his way carefully to the bed and sat on the edge of it. A waft of fresh coffee floated between them.

Billy kept blinking at the wall, his throat working around something to say.

Neil sighed. “I imagine it was something important. Since I’ve made it pretty clear how things work around this house—was it important, Billy?”

“No, sir,” he whispered, an automatic response to any question Neil asked him. “It wasn’t important.”

Neil’s heavy hand fell on his shoulder. “Why don’t you sit up.”

The bedside lamp clicked on, and Billy slowly righted himself. He fought the desire to look away. Neil didn’t like it when Billy looked away. It was _disrespectful_.

He hummed looking at Billy. Neil’s hand touched his own neck, and Billy knew he was looking at the spot Harrington left on him. “Huh. I guess it wasn’t so important,” said Neil in that same calm voice.

And then he upended the coffee onto Billy’s lap, and he screamed because he wasn’t expecting it. Neil hauled him off the bed and threw him against his bookshelf. It knocked the wind out of him. He clamped a large, damp hand over his mouth. “You shut the fuck up, boy,” he growled. “Now, I think I’ve been pretty clear with you, but maybe some things got lost in that empty head of yours.”

Neil's hand collared around his throat. Every time Billy swallowed, Neil clasped him a little tighter. “You know, I don’t ask for much. I put a roof over your head, and food on your plate, and clothes on your back, and I don’t ask for fuckin’ much. Do you think I’m asking too much, Billy? Huh?”

His vision was starting to swim. Billy swallowed a couple more times. “No, sir,” he breathed.

“Hm, then I don’t know—I’m stumped. Why else would I find my son sneaking around like a fuckin’ rat in the middle of the night? Huh? Any ideas?” Neil’s eyes were so hard, two ice chips reflecting nothing but disgust.

Billy tried desperately to think about what he might want to hear, but he took too long. The hand grasping his shirt flew to his face, backhanding him. Heat bloomed along his jaw, joining the white-hot sting over his stomach and thighs.

“Who are they? Anyone I’d know?” he hissed.

Billy shook his head. “No—sir,” he wheezed.

“Too bad,” he said, grin revealing his teeth. “I’d _really_ like to meet them.”

 

+++

 

Two days past their date at the movies and Billy still hadn’t called him. Steve tried not to loiter by his phone like a girl, but every ring made him jump.

He hadn’t even seen Billy since that night—which wasn’t so unusual. He saw Billy when Billy wanted to see him, and usually not the other way around.

Work and the kids were good distractions, even if Robin kept giving him big Looks. He wished he’d asked Billy for his number, though he also had a hunch Billy wouldn’t like him calling at home.

By now, it was Wednesday. Steve had all the windows open to let the evening breeze in. It helped keep the house cool without the AC.

The phone rang, inciting some Pavlovian response to rush to it from all the way upstairs. He almost ate shit on the last three steps.

Steve yanked the phone off the wall, nearly breathless. “Hello?” he said.

“Is that how you’re answering our phone Steven?” said Mom. He rolled his eyes, pushing away the immediate rush of disappointment.

“Harrington residence? Is that better?”

“Someone’s in a fresh mood. Would you like to speak to your father?”

Steve rolled his eyes _again_. “I don’t know, would I?”

His mother made a soft noise like she found him reluctantly amusing. “I think you would. Paul—Steven’s on the line.”

Steve leaned his shoulder against the wall, his arms crossed, while she passed the phone over. “Steve, I’m glad we caught you. No work today?” said Dad.

“No.”

“Nothing else going on? Your friends still out of town?”

Steve sighed. He looked out the window at the blue sky. It would have been a good day to go to the quarry. “No, it’s just me here.”

“Good, well, I’ll make this brief—you remember my colleague I was telling you about?”

Not really. “Sure,” said Steve.

“He’ll be flying through Indianapolis next week. I told him we’d meet him for a couple drinks. It’ll be next Saturday.” Of course, he wasn’t really asking, but all Steve could think was that he hadn’t seen Billy in a couple days, and historically, he had better luck seeing him on the weekends.

“Sure, sounds good,” he said.

Dad told him he would drive them up early, give them time to settle in with a couple cocktails at the lounge, and Steve should have his resume reprinted.

“Use the company letterhead in my office,” said Dad. “He’ll appreciate it.”

Steve said he would. Mom briefly came back on to tell him not to eat chips for dinner, and then Steve was alone again in his house.

He fished his keys out of his jacket pocket and decided chips for dinner sounded pretty good.

  


If he was being honest, Steve liked the summer. He liked how long the days were. By the time he got to Fair Mart, it was six, and by the time he left, the sun had barely budged.

He took the long way back home, which wasn’t very long at all, but which allowed him to pass the intersection with Cherry. He couldn’t see Billy’s house from here, but just knowing he might be there made him feel better.

Jesus, he was actin’ like a loser. Steve got this way sometimes. Not all the times, but sometimes. Like with Sara, his first girlfriend. He’d called her so often her Dad once came on the line to tell Steve the Harringtons should pitch in for their phone bill. And Nance, of course.

He hadn’t thought about her in a while, he realized. Billy had a way of taking up his thoughts the same way he took up his attention. Everything about him demanded his attention. Steve wondered when he’d become this person again—like the person who had loved Nancy Wheeler.

Steve turned onto a side street that technically went one way, but which everyone also technically ignored. Up on the left, he saw someone pushing a lawnmower. Billy obviously didn’t see him—he had his Walkman headphones on. That let Steve observe him in peace. He was shirtless, Hawkins gym shorts riding up his thighs. His converse looked dangerously close to untying.

Shit, he looked so good.

In school, he’d been distantly jealous of Billy. Maybe that should have been his first clue. He’d never felt that way about any other guys. Not even close.

Billy finally looked up, and Steve got a real kick out of seeing him startle. He cranked his window down. Billy pulled his headphones off his head, walking over to him, and the closer he got, the clearer Steve could see the faint bruise on his cheekbone and his fat lip.

Billy leaned into his window with two hands braced on the car. “You stalking me now?” he said, smiling. 

Steve couldn’t stop looking at his lip. Dumbly, he held up his bag of chips. “Getting dinner.”

Billy snorted. “That explains so much.”

“Excuse me, this physique requires strenuous upkeep.”

“I’m sure,” he said, but he was leering at Steve anyways.

He gestured loosely at his own face. “What happened there?”

Billy frowned at him, touching his lip like he’d forgotten about it. Then he looked away. Sniffing, he scratched at his hair. “Uh, nothin’ really. Wrong place, wrong time.”

“Oh.” Steve didn’t know what else to say—what else to ask. “Well, if I’m being honest, I was kinda hopin’ I would run into you.”

“Jesus Christ.” Billy rolled his eyes but he was smiling, if maybe reluctantly.

“No I’m serious man!”

“You _are_ my stalker, Harrington.”

He grinned. “If you want.”

“You’re so fuckin’ corny.”  Billy drummed his palms on Steve’s window, and he wanted to kiss him so badly it hurt. But he didn’t know if Billy would be okay with that now. Maybe it was a one-time thing, in the safety of his car in the dark.

“Alright, well, I’ve got these really big dinner plans you know. I don’t wanna be late.”

Billy’s eyes crinkled up. “I’m sure you’re the guest of honor.”

“The _most_ honorable guest.”

He drummed his hands again and leaned back. “Guess I’ll be seeing you, Harrington.”

Before he could stop himself, he blurted, “Will I?”

Billy’s tongue poked at his cheek. He smiled softly. “Yeah. You will.”

 

 +++

 

Life at the Hargrove-Mayfield house returned to normal, which meant back to shit. It was hard for Susan to keep up the happy family schtick after looking at his face across the breakfast table every morning.

Truly, Harrington had seen him on the upswing. He’d missed the bloody nose. And that first night, his lip had been so fat and swollen it hurt to even smoke a cigarette. It was the closest he’s ever come to quitting.

They got a few days reprieve afterwards—Neil never liked to stay around after working Billy over. He went to the public golf course or hung around with the guys from American Legion. Maybe he was celebrating.

When Billy had been younger, Neil would sit him down a couple days after laying into him to set things to right. “I know you’re a good kid, Bill,” he’d say. “Sometimes being a parent means being the bad guy. Do you understand now why I had to do what I had to do?”

Billy hardly ever got those lectures anymore. And Neil never called him good.

 _Steve did, though_. Steve called him good.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Harrington kissing him. God, it seemed like he’d never think about anything else. He kept thinking about the taste of Steve’s mouth, and the wet slide of his tongue, and the hesitant way he’d given Billy his number.

He’d given Billy _two_ numbers.

Truthfully, Billy didn’t actually need Harrington’s number. Max had it written on a post-it she kept tacked to her dresser mirror, in case she needed a ride somewhere. He’d memorized it about the second he’d seen it.

But now he had Steve’s number because Steve wanted him to have it. Billy guessed he’d never really had anyone to call. Not a girlfriend. Not anyone else.

He had the paper folded up tight in the inner pocket of his favorite jacket. The leather one. Neil and Susan never fucked with his jackets.

He could throw it away because he knew Steve’s number by heart, but any time he thought about doing it he also thought maybe he couldn’t.

Just having it put him in a real sunny mood. He didn’t even act up or anything at dinner when Susan asked about basic. Neil seemed mollified a bit to be reminded that Billy would be gone soon.

“You have everything you need?” said Neil, when Billy took up his plate to wash.

“Uh, for basic?” he said, scraping leftovers into the garbage.

Neil laughed. It was an odd sound. “For basic,” he said.

Billy scrubbed over the plate with a sponge and carefully didn’t look at him. “Might need a few more things,” he said.

“You got money for that?” he said.

“Maybe.”

Billy kept scratching over a piece of stubborn gristle.

“Neil and I are happy to pitch in, Bill,” said Susan softly. “We’re real proud of what you’re doing.”

He finally turned to look at her, because he knew Neil would get ticked off if he didn’t. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Then he slid his attention carefully over to his old man. Neil reached for his wallet and counted out forty dollars. Billy stared at his hand offering it to him.

When he took it, Neil said, “We’re happy to help.”

 

  
Billy waited until everyone was asleep before he called up Harrington. He nearly didn’t, but shit, it had been so good to see him earlier today. He felt all queer just thinking about it.

The phone rang a few times, and Billy thought he’d go to voice mail. Then Steve came on, and he sounded nearly out of breath. “Harrington residence,” he said.

Billy laughed. “Jesus—yeah, I’m lookin for a Steve Harrington. He might live in this residence of yours.”

“Shut up!”

“You know, I like a boy with good manners,” said Billy, turning over in his bed. He had the phone rested on his ear.

“Do you? I also say please and thank you.”

“I’ve never fuckin’ heard it.”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Shit, it’s good to hear from you. Hey, can I ask you something?”

Billy’s stomach swooped. “Yeah, maybe.”

There was a pause.

“What’s your favorite color?”

A shocked laugh burst out of him. “Shit, I don’t fuckin’ know. Why you askin’?”

“Humor me,” said Steve.

Billy thought about it. He wanted to tell Steve something true, even if that something was lame like his favorite color. “Yellow, I guess,” he said.

“Tell me why.”

“No. You get one question, and you just fuckin’ used it to ask me my favorite color. Gonna have to wait to ask another.”

Steve huffed out an amused noise. “What do I gotta do to earn another one?”

His belly swooped again. “I don’t know. Get creative King Steve.”

“I can probably do that.”

They fell into silence. Billy could hear Steve breathing on the other end of the line. It was a comforting noise. He pressed the phone closer to his ear. “What’re you doing right now?” he whispered. He didn’t know why he was fuckin’ whispering, but it seemed like the kind of moment that required a whisper.

“Well, _right_ now, right now, I’m laying in my bed, staring at this old poster of Elvis.”

Billy felt himself grinning. “Yeah? He staring back?”

“Probably not. He’s the King you know. He’s busy.”

Shit, Harrington was fuckin’ cute. He was basically the cutest person Billy knew. He swallowed a couple times. Felt like he couldn’t get enough air in. “What you wearin’?”

“Thought we weren’t allowed to ask double questions,” he said.

“Well, _you’re_ not. But I’m me.”

“Uh, sorry, I think you’re gonna have to come over here and see for yourself.”

Billy bit at his lip. “Oh do I?”

“I don’t see how else you’re gonna get your answer.”

He flipped his watch around. It was just past midnight. Neil'd had a couple beers at dinner. Billy looked out his window at the Camaro. He’d snuck around for a lot less. “I can be there in fifteen.”

“Then I’ll see you in fifteen.”

Billy carefully settled the phone back in the receiver and fished his keys out of his jacket.

 

+++

 

Steve practically vaulted off the couch the moment he heard the Camaro roar up his street. Billy wasn’t even properly out of his car yet when he yanked the door open.

He knew he was grinning like a doofus ogling Billy idle up his walkway—objectifying as Will would say. Billy wasn’t even wearing anything special. His T-shirt was kind of ratty, with holes in the collar. His jeans too. They were ripped at the knee on both legs. But, shit, he still looked pretty good. Steve was pretty certain Billy could make anything look good.

They brushed shoulders when Billy passed by him. Steve thought he was about point one second away from launching himself at him. Maybe less. Especially with Billy standing in his house, looking at him with his hands in his pockets, and his lip caught between his teeth.

He gestured to Steve with a hand still in his pants. “If you’d told me you were wearing honest-to-god pyjama pants, I would have been here a lot sooner. Don’t you know it’s summer, pretty boy?”

Steve looked down at his too-short flannel pants. He’d gotten them for Christmas when he was fifteen. “I don’t really mind the heat,” he mumbled.

Billy kept looking him up and down. “You want to cool off for a bit?”

“Huh?” said Steve like a genius.

“You keep telling me about this pool,” he said slowly.

Steve blinked. Right, the pool. The pool he kept telling Billy about. “Did you bring those yellow shorts?” he said.

“I think we’ll manage without them.”

“Will we? I  think _my_ demands were pretty clear.”

“You ever been skinny dipping?”

Steve choked on his laugh. He felt his last two brain cells float out of his head and evaporate into the air. “Seriously?”

When Billy grinned, he flashed his teeth. “Let’s find out.” Billy shoved away from the door, pulling his shirt over his head. Steve padded dumbly after him.

He left a trail of clothing leading all the way to the pool. At its edge, Billy shucked out of his underwear and turned to face him. Steve stared extra dumbly. He thought he’d lost all viable brain cells earlier, but now he knew he’d actually had a secret reserve waiting to disappear on him too.

The lights from the pool threw ribbons of color over Billy’s tanned body, dipping in and out of the shadows cast by his muscles. He looked like some kind of Greek God.

Billy closed the distance between them when Steve still hadn’t moved to take off his clothes. He slid warm hands under the hem of his shirt, up his back. “Shy, pretty boy?” said Billy.

Steve licked at his lip. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and shucked it off in one, mostly graceful movement. Billy immediately crowded into Steve’s space, rubbing the flat of his hands over his chest, across his nipples, down the trail of hair leading into his groin, and back up again. When Steve chanced a look at him from under his lashes, he found Billy focused intently on his hands.

“Do I get to ask my second question yet?” said Steve, voice coming out a little breathy as Billy tweaked at a nipple.

“Dunno. Have you earned it?” Billy’s fingers trailed back down again, curling beneath the waistband of his pants. He gave it a gentle tug. “I believe I said skinny dipping, didn’t I?”

Keeping Billy’s stare, Steve shucked out of his pants and his boxers. He was already half-hard and getting harder under Billy’s roaming eyes.

Steve took a couple steps forward, reaching a hand out to press gently against the warmth of Billy’s chest. “Where’d you get the necklace?” he said. He plucked at the pendant, inspecting the wink of metal under the pool lights.

“It was my mom’s,” said Billy. Steve could feel the words rumble in his chest and up his arm. _Was_. He gently patted the pendant back in place. Billy curled a hand around his hip and dragged him closer. Their cocks just lightly brushed, but the sensation still made him shiver.

“My turn,” Billy whispered, closing the space between them with a soft kiss. Steve reacted immediately, already leaning in, but Billy stepped back from him. He smoothed gentling circles into Steve’s hip with his thumb. “What happened to all your friends King Steve?”

Billy kept soothing him with soft touches, which made it hard to order his thoughts. His head felt slow like he sometimes felt reading. The words kept aligning themselves in the wrong order.

“Harrington,” said Billy softly.

Steve blinked at him. “Guess they grew up. Or grew tired of me,” he said.

“Have you met Tommy?” said Billy. “Don’t think he’ll ever grow up.”

Steve coughed around an uncomfortable laugh. “Yeah. Probably. I don’t know—I don’t think I have a lot in common with the people I used to be friends with anymore.”

“Sounds like you grew tired of _them_ ,” said Billy. He steered Steve closer with the hand on his hip, and pressed a procession of light, wandering kisses down his neck. Steve sighed.

“I know the kids are—they’re kids, you know. But, look, we all um, we went through some things about a year ago. They all get it, and no one else—gets it. Does that make sense?”

Billy paused, mouth just resting at Steve’s pulse point. “Yeah. It does,” he said finally.

Steve tugged at his curls, pulling him in the direction of the pool. He walked down the steps backwards and grinned up at Billy standing on the ledge. His face was underlit by the glowing lights. Steve couldn’t see the blue of his eyes anymore. He kept tugging until Billy slid into the water with him.

He sat on the middle step and pulled Steve onto his lap. He nosed at his cheek. Shit, Steve wanted to kiss him again—so he did. Billy didn’t stop him this time.

Chlorine droplets slid down his face from Steve’s hands cupping his jaw. One even caught on his tongue. He kissed the taste away with Billy’s mouth against his own.

“Where’s your Mom now?” said Steve, pulling away from him.

He watched Billy’s mouth spasm, a little twitch at the corner of his mouth. Steve pressed his thumb over it. “She’s dead,” said Billy. And then he kissed him again.

He kissed him slow, seconds bleeding together under the tacky press of lips. Steve pulled Billy’s bottom lip into his mouth, biting at it. He captured his moan on his tongue.

Billy pulled back slightly. “Where’s _your_ Mom? Seems to me you’re alone a lot,” he whispered. Steve looked down at the wavering shadow of Billy’s hands sliding over his thighs in the water. Their cocks slid together at every movement.

He picked up one of Billy’s hands and kissed the droplets of chlorine from his fingers. “My parents work a lot,” he said.

Billy made a considering noise and then a choked one when Steve slipped his finger inside his mouth, suckling over it. He suckled until the chlorine taste was gone and he only lapped at clean skin. He pulled off his finger with a pop. “What really happened to your face?” said Steve.

The little spasm pulled the corner of Billy’s lip down again. Sniffing, he looked away. The sound of chirping crickets and lapping water filled the lingering silence. “My old man,” he said finally.

Steve made a choking noise. Holy shit. “Your— _what_?”

Billy sent him a thin smile. “Gotta earn your double question,” he said.

Steve felt his stomach clench up thinking about Billy’s own dad wailing on him. That cast a new light on his bruises. Steve leaned back even more to see them and Billy scoffed, looking back to the forest. He had a swollen eye, and a fat lip that looked on the mend—he could only imagine what it looked like fresh.

“Billy—”

He cleared his throat over Steve. “C’mon, Harrington.”

“What?”

He frowned. “Let’s stop talking about my old man. Shit’s making me soft.”

Steve cast around in his brain for the right thing to say but the words felt even more jumbled than before. He jerked his chin down in a nod, reluctantly. They kept looking at each other. Billy slowly brought his hands up to Steve’s cheeks, a new wave of warm water sluicing down his neck and chest.

“But I know how you can make it up to me,” said Billy.

Steve sighed at the feeling of his big hands warm on his face. “How’s that?”

He brought Steve close enough to graze their noses together. Eyes fluttering, he whispered, “Fuck me.”

 

+++

 

Every time Billy tried to accelerate the mood, Harrington put a firm stop to it. He didn’t go slamming Billy around or marking him up with bruises he’d touch in the shower the next day. Harrington only kissed him. He kept kissing him until Billy lost feeling in his fingertips from the pruning. Until he thought his cock couldn’t get any harder, and then it did.

Finally (fuckin’ finally) he pulled Billy up from the pool steps and lead him inside. Even got him a towel and everything. Billy threw it immediately on the floor. He felt all crazy again just looking at Steve. Under the warm kitchen lighting, he looked like a fucking painting again. Especially naked. Shit, Harrington was fucking beautiful. He dragged him close, right in the middle of drying down his stupid hair.

“Harrington, c’mon,” Billy breathed into his mouth. “You gonna make me beg?”

Steve’s fingers spasmed at his nape. “Yeah?” said Billy, steering them toward the kitchen table. “You like that? Me begging? C’mon baby, please. _Please_ , fuck me,” he said. Steve moaned into his mouth.

Billy broke away from him and bent himself over the table. Usually, he found himself like this at some club, pushed against a bathroom stall.

The warmth of Steve’s lean body covered his own. It was a good weight. Billy didn’t always know if it would feel good, on account of Neil making the same move a time or two, but tonight, right now, it felt so fucking good.

Harrington bit at his neck the way he was coming to find he liked. His hands dragged over his back and down his arms, curling softly over his hands laid flat on the table. “Shit, you look so good,” he said in Billy’s ear. His voice was nice and gruff. Billy’s cock throbbed. He gripped Steve’s hand and brought it to his mouth so he could get his fingers nice and wet.

Steve made some kind of groan at the feeling, but when Billy tried to bring his hand down, he stopped him. “Hey,” he muttered. “I have lube upstairs.” Billy looked over his shoulder. Steve seemed kind of embarrassed to admit it.

“Yeah?” he said.

Steve kept hold of his hand, tugging softly toward the stairs. “Yeah.” Billy followed dumbly after him. Felt stupid to admit, but he’d never fucked anyone in a bed. In an _upstairs_ even.

He didn’t even have the heart to make fun of Harrington’s room and all the plaid in it. Steve pushed him onto the bed gently, then straddled him. He kept one hand braced beside Billy’s head while the other cupped his jaw. Steve kissed him nice and slow. Usually Billy led the kissing, but he was content to follow Steve, to let him suck on his bottom lip and furl his tongue over his teet.

He kissed Billy nice and slow while his hips pressed into him. Their cocks slipped together, flushed and swollen, leaking against their bellies.

“ _Steve,_ ” panted Billy, breaking away from him. His balls were starting to ache.

Steve nosed at him. He had this soft smile on his face. “Jesus, you’re bossy,” he said, reaching over into his bedside drawer for the lube.

Billy watched Steve pour it onto his fingers with such an intense look of concentration he found himself laughing. Steve’s eyes snapped up. “What?” he said. “Wrong?”

He shook his head, grinning stupidly. “I can feel you thinkin’.”

“No one’s ever said that to me.” Harrington capped the lube and moved back over Billy. He nosed at his jaw. Billy brought him in for another kiss, even though his balls hurt and he would probably last one second the moment Steve was finally inside him. Kissing Harrington was maybe even better than fucking him. Shit, it felt so good.

“It’s easy,” said Billy.

“Mm?”

“Fuckin’. You’re not gonna hurt me or something,” he said.

Steve pulled back, and his dumb hair hung between them like a curtain. He bit at his lip, looking uncertain. “I want to make you feel good,” he said. “Tell me how to make you feel good.”  

Billy swallowed. “This is pretty good,” he whispered.

Steve’s lip curled up. He kissed him again. “Oh, you mean this?”

“Uh. Yeah. And what we were doin’ before,” he said.

Harrington positioned his hips against Billy’s so their cocks dragged together every time he moved. At his point, Billy thought he’d never have blood in his head again. Even the smallest brush made him ache. Steve snuck a hand down between them, pressing the swollen heads of their cocks together. He moved in slow circles until precome welled over his knuckles. Then he moved even slower.

Billy’s thighs started shaking. His cock was so sensitive from being hard for so long. When he blinked his eyes open, Steve was staring at him with his tongue caught between his teeth. “And _this_?”

He dragged a shaky breath of air into his lungs. “Yeah—Harrington, _please_. C’mon.”

His mouth covered Billy’s again, plush and sweet, and Billy clutched at him like he was a fuckin’ life raft or something. Harrington kept moving in maddeningly slow circles over his cock. Billy didn’t even notice the hand between his thighs until Steve’s finger circled his hole, feather-light, before pushing against him. A moan slipped out of him.

“ _This_?” said Steve.

Billy slapped at his shoulder. “You’re such an asshole.”

In response, Steve crooked his finger, accidentally hitting that spot he sometimes touched himself. His cock jerked. He was panting like a bitch in heat.

Steve dropped his forehead to his. It was tacky with sweat. His finger kept moving against that spot and Billy’s vision swam. He guessed he’d never really had this much attention put on him all at once. Definitely not by the guy fucking him. The few times he’d fucked a chick, he’d fucked her like this. Made everything about her so she didn’t start asking questions about his soft dick.

Maybe Harrington fucked chicks the same way. And him.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” grunted Steve, when Billy managed to wriggle a hand between them and grab his cock. He gave him a few slow pumps, then pushed at his lower abdomen so he’d finally move where Billy needed him.

“You waitin’ til ‘86 to fuck me?” said Billy.

“I was actually thinkin’ ‘87.”

Billy curled his fist over the head of his cock in retaliation, gratified to hear the responding stream of curses. He used the back of Harrington’s neck to lever himself up far enough to press his lips to his ear. “C’mon baby. I wanna feel your cock in me. Wanna feel you tomorrow when I’m walkin’ home.”

“ _Shit_.”

Steve dropped his head to Billy’s shoulder. He crooked his finger against that spot again, harder, and truly, Billy was going to lose his fucking mind. He spit onto his own fingers and brought them down between them to join Steve’s. He eased one in beside him, then another, maybe too quickly. Not like Billy had never done this fast before. He kind of liked the burn. It eased the guilt. Like a reminder that being a faggot wasn’t actually supposed to feel that good.

But it felt pretty good right now. “Harrington,” he said, easing his fingers out and grabbing for Steve’s cock. “ _Steve_ . Baby, _please_.”

Steve lifted his head up, and with his hair falling around them like a veil, his entire face was cast in shadow. He hunted over Billy’s face, eyes looking impossibly soft. It hurt or something to see him like that. He dragged Harrington back down for a kiss. Now that he was nice and distracted, Billy wriggled his hips up until Steve’s cock was poised against him.

Harrington reached back over for the lube, smeared it over his cock, then steadied himself with a hand. He pushed in slowly. It burned. It burned before he was even inside him and it burned more now that he was. And it also felt so much fucking better than fingers. Billy cracked an eye open long enough to look down the length of his body at Steve’s cock sliding inside him. He felt fucking surreal. Like this wasn’t happening to him.

When he craned his neck back, finding Steve’s gaze on him, he had the oddest sensation he was someone else, living in someone else’s body.

Then Steve said, “Fucking _Christ_ , Billy,” a whisper of air against his cheek. His hands cupped Billy’s face.

He wasn’t going to last. Steve was thrusting slowly into him, inflaming the burn, and that, coupled with his oversensitive cock rubbing against Steve’s belly, and Steve looking like that—just, it was all driving him to the edge. His whole face erupted with heat. He might feel a lot more embarrassed if Steve didn’t also look like he was in the same boat.

He dropped his head to Billy’s shoulder again with a choked sigh. “Uh—fuck, man. _Shit_. M’ not gonna last.” His hand grappled on the sheets for Billy’s. The pressure of his palm was nearly bruising.

Billy moved his hips up against Harrington’s, working to find that perfect angle again. Steve felt huge inside him—like he could split him apart. He wasn’t moving to any sort of rhythm—just chasing the edge of sensation—so when he did find the right angle, the onslaught of feeling was almost too much.

Hissing, Billy thrust his hips haphazardly. His breathing came short, and his muscles chorded up. He thought he might take a fucking chunk of hair from Harrington’s head with the way he gripped him so tight. “Fucking shit,” said Billy. Steve bared down on him, dragging the taught plane of his abs against his cock. Billy stopped breathing. His body paused in motion. Then a surge of adrenaline hit him, and he felt himself coming with Harrington still moving inside him.

It felt like he was blacking out.

Maybe he even made a noise too, because Steve paused long enough to say, “Okay?”

Billy gave him a jerky nod. He didn’t think he could open his eyes. Steve started moving again, these long thrusts that became shorter and choppier until he stilled inside him with a strangled moan. Billy could feel his cock pulsing. His own gave a weak kick. He wasn’t even soft yet. Didn’t feel like he ever would be.  

It felt like Steve came for a long time. And then he collapsed on top of Billy, his whole weight pressing him into the mattress. Without thinking too hard, Billy wound an arm over Harrington’s back and down his flank. He rested his fingers inside the dimples on the small of his back while Harrington took an age to remember how to breathe.

Billy drew small designs over Harrington’s skin. He wrote Steve’s name. Then his. He drew a dick. That’s when Steve finally rolled off him.

Billy turned over onto his side, head propped on his hand. Steve was throwing big dimples at him, eyes glittering and bright. Billy gave him a small smile, finding it hard to keep Harrington’s stare. He felt kind of shy. Or something. He didn’t know. It was a creeping feeling in the recess of his head.

Steve said, “I know what I really want to ask you now.”

Billy jerked his attention back over to him. Cautiously, he said, “Guess you earned it.”

“Okay, tell me the truth. Did you ever, at any point in your life, like Wham!?”

Relief surged through him, driving back that other feeling. He picked up the nearest pillow on the bed and smacked Steve with it. “Jesus Christ Harrington.”

Steve inched closer to him. He put a hand on Billy’s hip like it was no big deal. His thumb stroked back and forth. “How much do you like Wham! Billy? C’mon, you can tell me.”

“Man shut the fuck up.”

Steve scooted even closer. His legs slipped between his own. “How much?” he whispered.

They were nose to nose. Billy didn’t fucking know what he was feeling right now. It was an emotion or something. His throat clicked when he swallowed. “Uh, one time out in California, this Wham! cover band came to the Oakland Mall. Max wouldn’t fuckin’ leave me alone about it, and Susan, she said she’d talk to my old man about this trip I wanted to take to San Francisco. If I brought her. Anyway. So’s, we went to this fuckin’ Wham! cover show.” He paused.

Steve poked him in the bicep. “Okay, so you went to this fuckin Wham! cover show. And?”

Billy sniffed, shrugging. “And. It was alright.”

Steve laughed. “Oh my god. _It was alright_ ,” he mocked, doing a pretty bad impression of his voice. Billy did _not_ sound like that.

“Can it Harrington.”

“No man, it’s cute. You can like Wham!—you already know I like ‘em _.”_

Billy kissed him to shut him up, and because he wanted to. It felt weird to be kissing someone after fucking them. Almost as weird as it felt to be fucking in a bed. Steve kept doing this thing where he’d smooth Billy’s hair away from his face like he was a little kid. It felt nice.

Finally, Billy pulled away from him. He swallowed a few times. They were just laying on Steve’s bed staring at each other, the dim light from his desk lamp the only light in the room. “What time is it?” whispered Billy.

“You’re the one with the watch,” Steve whispered back. He gently pulled at Billy’s watch hand, bringing it closer to his face. His eyes flickered over the top of it, looking hesitant. “About two-thirty,” he said.

 _Shit._ His alarm was gonna go off soon. Billy would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t feel kind of relieved by it, though.

“You have to go,” guessed Steve, tucking another wayward curl behind his ear. Billy caught his hand and pressed his fingers to his lips.

“Yeah, the old man will be doin’ his rounds soon. Or whatever he does.”

Steve’s mouth pressed thin. He hoped he wouldn’t have to field any more fuckin’ questions about Neil or their family business. Wasn’t anyone’s business but their own. Plus, he didn’t think he could handle Harrington feeling pity or something stupid like that.

“Um,” Steve started, opened his mouth and closed it again. “Can I ask you somethin’ else?”

His whole stomach swooped. Billy knew it wasn’t gonna be any more questions about Wham!. He didn’t say anything. Harrington’s big eyes darted over his face. He licked at his lower lip, making it shine. Billy tried to concentrate on that.

“Earlier, at the beginning of the summer—why’d you, uh,  why’d you really make a move on me?” he whispered.

A cold tingle shivered down his body. Billy realized he’d stopped breathing. He focused now on a loose thread on Steve’s comforter and started picking at it. He shrugged a shoulder up. “Wanted to,” he said, still not looking at Steve. It was the truth after all.

Harrington didn’t say anything so he guessed he was waiting to hear more. “Uh, guess I wanted to for a long time,” he said in this slow voice.

Finally, Billy looked at him. His eyes were so big and kind of soft looking. “Will you go somewhere with me?” said Steve suddenly.

Billy huffed a laugh. “Stargazing again, King Steve? You’re layin’ it on thick.”

“I was actually thinking Indianapolis,” he said. “Next Saturday.”


	8. 8.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy and Steve talk. Or try to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again y'all—the comments! I DIE. I SCREAM. I seriously feel so feckin' amazed by your feedback and I appreciate every comment I've gotten. As always, only comment and leave kudos if you feel like it. I hope everyone enjoys this long, bumpy ride of a chapter. The Angst Train is back in the station y'all. Also, let's collectively ignore my use of Bimmer for 50k words. I made the decision in the beginning and for consistency's sake, I had to keep it up.

 

“Hey, can you turn the volume up?” said Max, even though she was closer to the remote than Billy. They were watching reruns of _ Murder, She Wrote _ . Billy wasn’t really watching it. He was layin’ around waiting to head into work. And thinking about calling Harrington. They’d been doing that more—talking on the phone. Billy didn’t think they’d have a lot to talk about, but Harrington had a lot of opinions on things. He didn’t like onions, for one. Or pickles. That’d sparked a two-hour long debate right there. 

Billy also learned he didn’t like basketball even though he’d been playin’ it for something like eleven years. Harrington said if he could do it all over again, he’d do fuckin’ _ theater _ . Real faggy shit. Billy teased him for about a million years about that, even though he privately thought Steve would make a better Danny than John Travolta.

Max asked him to turn it up again. He made a production about lugging himself off the couch and manually turned it up just so’s she would complain about him standing in front of it. He was still thinking about Harrington. He really might call him before he headed to work, even though they’d seen each other only last night.

“Billy, move your big butt! I can’t see,” whined Max. He smiled to himself.

“Sorry, what?” said Billy, turning the volume up real loud. His old man was at work. So was Susan. It was just them in the house.

“Billy!”

“You want it louder?” he yelled.

Max stomped over to him, shoving him over with her hip. She turned it down by like half. Then they just stood there, watchin’ Jessica Fletcher boppin’ around the screen. “What do you think about that guy? Deputy Andy?” she said suddenly. Now they were watchin’ Louis Herthum boppin’ around the screen.

“Man, what?” said Billy. He untucked the cigarette from behind his ear and lit it with the candle burning above the mantle.

"Deputy Andy—he’s, like, super old, right?”

He shrugged. Louis Herthum was alright, he guessed. He had dimples. “He’s alright,” he told Max, then messed up her hair because he knew she was fixing to see Sinclair later tonight and she didn’t want it to frizz.

She kept looking at him while she patted down her flyaways.

“What?” said Billy again. “Why you actin’ strange?”

“I’m not acting strange,” she said in a calm voice like he was a big baby. “Are you seeing Steve tonight?”

Billy held the smoke in his mouth until it burned the back of his throat. He blew it away from them. “Why, you wanna see him or somethin’?”

“You guys have been hanging out a lot,” she said, shrugging up a shoulder. They were still in front of the TV, watching  _ Murder, She Wrote _ .

“He ain’t too bad,” said Billy, finally. “I mean—he’s bad. But not  _ too _ bad.”

“Hm,” said Max. “Susan’s making her ‘famous’ casserole tonight.”

“I fuckin’ know.”

“Maybe you should make other plans.” She shrugged up her shoulder again, all casual. Billy blew his smoke at her this time, and she didn’t even blink.

“Maybe I will,” he told her.

 

  
He called Harrington, after all. Like usual, he picked up in two rings. Harrington always sounded out of breath when he answered his phone. Billy really liked that. “Hey,” he said. 

“Hey yourself,” said Harrington. “What’re you doing?”

“Susan’s experimentin’ on innocents again,” he said.

Steve groaned. “Casserole?”

“Casserole,” said Billy. He thumbed at his nose a couple times. He didn’t know why he felt suddenly nervous; he’d fuckin’ had Steve’s prick inside him a couple nights ago. He took a moment to clear his throat. “You busy tonight?” said Billy, as casually as he could manage.

“I dunno. Y’know, I’m like super popular, very busy all the time, people are always asking for me—”

“You wanna grab—I dunno, a pizza or somethin’?” Shit, Billy wanted to take it back as soon as he said it. He really did.

But Harrington went off right away. “Uh, yeah, okay! So there’s this place Robin showed me—listen, it’s kinda far away, but I think you’d really like—”

Billy laid on his bed with his phone rested on his ear, listening to Harrington give him a fuckin’ deposition about this pizza place out in Greenberg, and he couldn’t stop fuckin’ smiling. He was even smiling after he’d hung up with Harrington. He was gonna meet Harrington at eight, after his shift. Billy lay in bed, listening to the murmurs of  _ Murder, She Wrote  _ through the walls. He wished he was in Harrington’s bed again. Kissin’ him and tasting pizza.

He told Susan and his old man he’d be back before midnight. They were sitting on the couch watching reruns of  _ MASH _ . Neil looked at him a long time. He sniffed, like he smelled something rotten in the air. Billy waited for him to tell him he wasn’t going out after all. He looked like he might. 

“Back by midnight?” said Neil.

Billy dipped his chin down. Neil sniffed again, then went back to watching the TV. “Don’t be too loud. Susan has to be up early,” he said. Billy slid is attention to Susan. She looked small pressed against the arm of the couch.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Billy.

He drove over to Harrington’s. He was already outside when Billy pulled up, leaning against his car door and smoking a cigarette. He threw big dimples at Billy when he walked up the driveway. He even opened up Billy’s door for him like some kind of boyfriend. Then he fuckin’ laughed at the face Billy made when he did it. Asshole.

They just sat there together in silence for a couple minutes. Steve didn’t even have his annoying music playing. He was too busy looking at Billy. Maybe he looked some kind of way.

“You ready for pizza,” said Harrington, softly.

Billy kept on staring at him. His hair was perfectly done. He was wearing a little league baseball shirt and a pair of form-fitting jeans. Billy just kept on staring like an idiot. Shit, he looked so good. Eventually, Billy leaned across the console and gave him a quick kiss. Steve blinked at him. “Hi, hello,” he said, like a dork.

Billy tried to smile, but then Steve leaned into him again, and Billy was already there, meeting him halfway. This kiss was soft and lingering. Steve tasted like mint chapstick. His lips were so fucking soft. Billy dragged that plump bottom lip into his mouth because he fuckin’ could and Steve moaned against him.

“So. This special pizza,” said Billy when he leaned back. Harrington gave him a brilliant smile.

“Oh, I think you’re really gonna like this.”

They drove out to Greenberg and Steve let Billy choose the music. Both front windows were open. Their hair whipped around them, obscuring their view. Harrington kept pushing his away from his eyes. Billy felt magnetized to him, like he’d never be able to look anywhere else. Harrington drove with one hand on the wheel and the other perched on the windowsill. He was doin’ the Steve thing where he talked Billy’s ear off. He thought, by now, it might be something he did when he was nervous. 

Billy didn’t mind listening to him yap. Harrington spent the entire thirty-minute drive talking to Billy about the recent game between the Angels and the Mets even though he hated baseball more than basketball.

He was still fuckin’ talking about it after they’d parked and his engine started to cool. Billy just humored him with nods and occasional agreements. “You’re really fired up, King Steve,” he said, following Harrington up the walkway to the pizza place. It was really low key. Actually, lookin’ at it now, the place kind of looked like a dump.

Billy stopped in front of the door, staring at a guy wearing a kilt and smokin’ into the night. Steve placed a casual hand on the small of his back. “My old man really likes baseball,” said Steve, like that answered everything. Then he gave the back of Billy’s jeans a small tug.

It was one of those seat yourself kind of places. And it was kind of crowded. Billy couldn’t stop lookin’ at everyone. They didn’t look anything like the people from Hawkins. They kind of reminded him of some guys he’d seen in a San Francisco club a while back.

Their waiter was obviously a fairy. Billy figured that out in two seconds flat. He handed them their menus and floated away. “What kinda fuckin’ place is this?” said Billy.

Steve peered at him over his menu. “I dunno. Robin recommended it.”

“I bet she fuckin’ did,” he mumbled. They could smoke inside though, so he wasted no time tapping out a couple cigarettes. When their fairy waiter came back, Steve ordered a large pizza with pepperoni and pineapple even though Billy told him they’d never kiss again if he did—maybe that’d made him do it more.

“If you don’t like it, I’ll order another,” said Steve, a gauzy stream of smoke curling out from between his lips.

“Oh, watch out everyone! The King is spendin’ big tonight,” said Billy.

“Yeah,” said Steve, matter-of-factly. “He is.”

Their pizza came and it wasn’t so bad. Okay, it was alright. Billy ate like four pieces even though he wanted to hook up with Harrington later and pizza made him sleepy.

Steve was in the middle of telling him about this time Tommy tried to jerk off in front of him during a sleepover. Obviously, Billy was hangin’ onto his every word. “So, he just what—he whipped it out?” said Billy. “Said, ‘hold on Harrington, this is gonna be a bumpy ride?’”

Steve started coughing out his Coke and laughing really bad. His eyes and nose were streamin’. Billy’s cheeks hurt grinning at him. “No, he had like a porno or something he swiped from his Dad.”

“And his first thought was droppin’ trow with you?” Billy didn’t think he could blame him. He’d do the same fuckin’ thing.

Steve swiped his crust from his plate and ate it in two big bites. He was talking with his mouth full. Jesus, he looked like a fuckin’ chipmunk. “He wanted to know what my, like, favorite page was.”

“Okay, don’t leave us hanging. What was it pretty boy?”

Steve shrugged. “I can’t remember. I was too freaked out. I’d never—you know, I’d never jerked off before or anything.”

Billy felt his eyebrows shoot up. “You were what, thirteen you said?”

Steve shrugged again. “Yeah. I didn’t start doin’ that crap until I was like fifteen and had a girlfriend.”

Jesus. Billy thumbed at his nose a couple times. “I was like eleven when I started doin’ that junk,” he admitted. He didn’t admit he’d also been doin’ it with fifteen-year-olds.

Steve got a speculative look on his face. “Okay, I’m gonna ask you somethin’. Don’t freak out.”

Billy fully prepared himself to freak out. He dipped his chin down.

“Um. Okay, so did you—did you always, you know, like guys or whatever? I dunno how to fuckin’ phrase that, sorry,” mumbled Steve, takin’ a long sip of Coke.

He rubbed at his hair, thinking up a response. A flash of irritation struck him, but it was the usual kind of irritation that cropped up whenever anyone mentioned him bein’ a queer. It was probably some kind of biological response by now. He waited for it to pass. This was just Steve. Steve, who’d been fuckin’ him and holding his face and kissin’ him real soft. Billy jammed a piece of crust in his mouth.

“Yeah,” he said shortly, still chewing.

Steve nodded. “Like always?” he whispered.

He couldn’t make himself say yeah again, so he just nodded. Steve’s shoe kicked gently at his under the table and it made him feel alright. Then their fairy waiter came back. He set the bill between them, and before Billy could pull out his wallet, Steve had already put a bunch of cash down. Their waiter winked at Billy when he noticed him staring.

“You guys are real cute, ya know,” he said, smacking on bubblegum and counting back their change. Billy couldn’t be sure, but lookin’ at the big stack of bills between them, he didn’t think he’d charged them the full amount. “Buy your boyfriend something nice, yeah?” He winked and floated off again. Steve didn’t correct him about saying they were boyfriends. His mouth was too busy hanging open.

 

+++

 

They took the long way back. Billy cranked all the windows down again, so Steve had to yell just so he could hear him. A sensation of weightlessness bloomed in his chest looking over at him with his hand out the window.  Billy brought out that feeling in him a lot. He made Steve feel—important. That was the right word.

After failing to light his cigarette for the third time, Billy painstakingly rolled all the windows back up. He even lit a cigarette for Steve. He tried not to make a too big deal about it.

They smoked together, and at some point, Billy’s hand made it onto his thigh. Steve put his hand on top of his. He couldn’t stop thinking about what that waiter said—about calling Billy his  _ boyfriend _ . It kind of seemed insane. Steve had never thought about Billy that way, but he guessed he shouldn’t be so surprised. He basically did everything with Billy that he’d done with Nancy.  _ And so much more. _

When he looked over at him, Billy was already staring his way. His eyes reflected the wavering light of his cigarette. Blowing smoke out the side of his mouth, Billy said, “Tell me about Indianapolis.” His hand gave Steve’s thigh a small squeeze.

“Okay, what do you wanna know?”

Billy shrugged. He smoked a couple more puffs. “What’s happening there? Why we goin’?”

Steve’s hand tightened on the wheel. He hadn’t told Billy about the real reason he was going up there. He tried to find a way to explain why he wanted Billy to come. It took a while. His thoughts were all jumbled again. Billy just sat there silently while he ordered his thoughts, his hand still touching his leg. Steve tried to concentrate on that. It felt comforting.

“Um—my Dad’s kind of a prick. I haven’t really told you about that, but uh, he is. Like, he screws around on my Mom and shit and he—well, I guess he’s not wrong, thinkin’ I’m stupid—”

“You ain’t stupid,” said Billy in this hard voice. Steve slid his eyes over to him.

“ _ What _ ?” said Billy, throwing his cigarette out the window. “You‘re not.”

Steve squeezed his hand lightly. “Well, my Dad never lets me forget it. Anyways, he’s bringin’ me to Indianapolis to meet this friend of his. Maybe, I dunno, maybe he’s hoping I can charm my way into school or somethin’. But I just...I was thinking about going up there alone, and maybe it’s dumb, but I don’t—want to do that shit you know? Alone. I  _ can’t _ .”

Billy was silent for a while. His hand was still on Steve’s thigh, so he tried not to freak out too much, but they sat there not talking for a long, long time. Steve finally looked over at him. He had his head rested in his other hand, looking off into the rolling fields.

“You tryin’ to scare your old man away or somethin’?” said Billy quietly.

“What?”

He shrugged up his shoulder. “Ballsy move, bringin’ the guy you’re fuckin’ around with. Should do the trick.”

“C’mon that’s not what I’m saying,” said Steve. “Did you even listen to me?”

“I have two fuckin’ ears, don’t I?” said Billy, finally sliding his hand away. Shit. Steve kept throwing glances at him and Billy kept not looking at him. He was going to crash the fuckin’ car in a second. Steve eased them onto the side of 42. There wasn’t anyone else besides them on the road. He could barely see anything beyond the halo of his headlights.

He took Billy’s hand again, because he wanted to touch him, and he hated the look on his face. He didn’t snatch it away. “Okay, no, don’t do that okay?” said Steve.

“What am I fuckin’ doing Harrington?” said Billy, but he still didn’t take his hand back.

“Don’t act like I’m about to screw you over every fuckin’ second? Look, all I could think the other night when I asked you to come, was how much I didn’t wanna deal with my dad alone. Does that make sense? I want someone on my side or somethin’. I dunno, now that I’m saying it out loud—”

Billy’s hand gave his hand a small squeeze. “Okay, okay, Jesus. I get it, Harrington.”

Steve was really working himself up. He was breathing hard and everything. “Do you?”  

“Sure. You want me to protect you from your old man,” he said, like a piece of shit. Steve batted at his shoulder.

“Shut up,” he said.

“Don’t worry Stevie, I’ll protect you. Old man Harrington’s not gonna rag on you. Not on my watch.”

Steve went to hit him again, but Billy caught his hand. He pulled him into a kiss. It was a pretty good kiss. He immediately wound his hands into Billy’s hair, dragging him closer. Billy made a soft sighing noise when he did it. Billy always wanted to take things fast, like he felt Steve was gonna change his mind halfway through hookin’ up or something so he needed to do it quick.

Steve kind of liked getting him all worked up. He pulled back when Billy tried to deepen the kiss, and now he made an annoyed sigh. Steve pressed the pad of his thumb to the slick center of his lip, tracing over it. “Is midnight a hard deadline?” he said.

Billy’s mouth turned down under his finger. “Shit, yeah. Your dad ain’t the only prick around.”

He said it so casually, but all Steve could think about was the healing cut on his lip and his fading black eye. He forcibly bit back any kind of comment. They’d just narrowly missed having a fight.

“Too bad, I was doin’ more reading,” he said, forcing himself to smile. Billy nipped at his finger.

“Oh yeah? Brushin’ up on human anatomy?”

Steve grinned. “Guess you’ll never know.” He pulled the car back onto the road even though he wanted to fool around. He was already half-hard just from kissing Billy. He always got Steve revved up in like two seconds.

Billy put his hand back on Steve’s thigh, his fingers stroking over the inside of seam of his pants. Steve shifted in his seat when Billy’s hand wandered higher, stroking gently over his thigh, and finally cupping his swelling cock.

“Been doin’ some reading of my own,” said Billy, giving him a wicked grin.

“Jesus,” said Steve when Billy deftly undid his belt and slid his zip down. He pulled Steve’s cock from his pants and wrapped a tight hand around him. Steve jerked the steering wheel, sending the car into the middle of the road. He cursed again and tried his hardest to concentrate on driving.

Billy gave his cock a couple kitten licks, tongue swirling over the head. “Y’know, I used to think about doin’ this all the time,” he said, finally sinking down on him. The car jerked again.

Steve wanted to place a hand in Billy’s hair but he had a death grip on the steering wheel and he didn’t think he could pry a hand away to do it. “Uh, really?” he said, voice pitching up high. Billy made a humming noise below him. His cheeks hollowed out as he sucked. Steve’s hips hitched up unconsciously, and Billy’s strong hand pushed against them to keep him still.

When he pulled off Steve, he made a lewd popping noise. Steve stole a glance at him. His eyes were half-lidded and his mouth was swollen, slick and red. “Yeah, used to look at you in the shower and think about what you’d taste like.”

Holy shit. “Holy shit,” breathed Steve. He had a lot of questions about that, but they flew out his ear and into the night when Billy put his mouth back on him. One hand wrapped around the root of his cock while the other kept his hips from moving. Billy could take him about halfway, then a little more, if he choked himself. He did. Steve could feel his throat closing over the head of his cock, the strong glide of his tongue running along the swollen crown of his head.

He jerked the car over onto the side of the road again with a squeal from the tires. Steve barely had it in park before his hands were winding into Billy’s hair, pulling at him desperately. Billy held him deep in his throat while Steve came, shooting ropes of come into his warm mouth. Like always, he swallowed, lapping at any drop he might have missed when Steve finally finished.

He collapsed against his seat with a long sigh. Billy finally pulled off him. He looked fucking obscene, with his swollen lips and fucked up hair. Steve pulled him into a kiss. He licked the taste of his own come from Billy’s mouth and it wasn’t nearly as gross as he thought it would be. Billy moaned against him.

Steve pulled away and rested his forehead against his. “So you—how long have you been thinkin’ about me? Like that?” he whispered. Billy made a small huffing noise. He pulled slowly away and looked out his darkened window. Steve could see his frown reflected in the glass.

“Jesus, we’re really doin’ this I guess. Uh,” he sniffed, “a while.”

Steve looked at him. He wanted to kiss him again, so he curled a hand around his nape and eased Billy back where he wanted him. He didn’t put up too much of a fight. His lips were yielding and soft. “How long?” whispered Steve against his mouth.  

“C’mon Harrington.”

“Okay, was it the gym shorts? Cause I’ve been told I look really good in those—”

“Halloween,” said Billy shortly, like it pained him to admit it.

Steve’s mouth clicked shut.  _ Holy shit _ , he thought again. “That was your first week in Hawkins, right?” he said slowly.

Billy started pulling away again, but he kept him in place. A deep furrow appeared between his brows. “Are you gonna make this a big deal or somethin’? It’s not a big deal, Harrington.”

Steve couldn’t stop his spreading grin even though Billy looked like he was seconds away from clocking him in the nose. “Oh my god, was it my costume? Did you like my mysterious glasses?”

“Shut up,” begged Billy, and Steve heard a small note of desperation that made him shut up. He tucked a stray curl away behind Billy’s ear. 

“Had a funny way of showin’ it,” he said.

Billy’s mouth ticked up. “Just cause I wanted to suck your dick didn’t mean I liked you or nothin’. You were still a pain in the fuckin’ ass.”

“Yeah, you made that crystal clear. From day one.”

An odd expression cast over his face. Steve watched the levers turn, knitting his eyebrows together and pulling his mouth down. He settled back in his seat, and it felt far away to Steve, even though he could still reach out and touch him. He did.

They drove the rest of the way in silence. Finally, they pulled up to his house. He cut the engine and looked over at Billy again. He’d been doing that every couple of minutes. Billy was biting at a hangnail. Steve didn’t know what to say to him.

Finally, Billy said, “All that shit early last year, I never told you I was sorry about it."

Steve’s breath caught. He tried to school his expression into something neutral. Billy kept biting at his nail, looking off to some point in the distance. “I am, you know,” he said, each word emerging slowly from his mouth. “Sorry, I mean. Didn’t need to do that shit to you.”

Billy finally looked at him. His eyes were bright and serious. Steve tried to smile, but his throat kind of ached. “Wow, that sounded like it hurt,” he said softly. The tension broke. It felt like a physical weight falling off them.

Billy batted him in the arm. “Jesus Christ, you say I’m the asshole. Last fuckin’ time I say somethin’ nice.”

Steve took his hand and turned it over. He traced a finger down Billy’s lifeline—he knew what that was now. “I mean, I know it looked weird. Me and a buncha kids in the middle of the night.”

Billy looked at their hands together. “You said some shit went down between you guys. Was it that night?”

He couldn’t tell Billy. He really couldn’t, but he wanted to. That realization quietly stole his breath. Somehow, Billy had become someone he wanted to tell things to. “Yeah,” he managed to say. “It was.”

“You don’t wanna talk about it,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

Steve gave his hand back. “I  _ can’t  _ talk about it.”

That was the real truth. He could feel Billy observing him. Finally, he shrugged up a shoulder. “Okay,” he said simply. “Shit, I feel like we’ve been in this fuckin’ car for years.”

He felt himself smiling. “Probably all this emotional talking. Saying sorry? I mean, you gotta be drained, man.”

Billy gave him a flat look that slowly morphed into a small smile the more they stared at each other. He leaned across the console and gave him a light kiss. “Yeah and now I need my beauty sleep. Like you said, I’m feelin’ real drained.”

He pushed the door open and started to get out. Steve said, “Robin mentioned this bonfire thing at the quarry tomorrow night. You wanna go?”

Some kind of emotion crossed his face but Steve didn’t know what it was. “A lot of people goin’?” he said.

Steve shrugged. “I guess. It’s a party, I think. You want to?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure thing,” he said. The weird look was still there, but he was smiling at Steve again, and it made his stomach flip.

“Call me tomorrow. We’ll work it out.”

The smile broadened. “I’ll call ya.”

 

  
Robin didn’t have any amazing joints on her during their shift, so they sat in the backroom trying to flip mini-oreos into water cups to pass the time. Robin’s shot flew in perfectly. Again.

“Score, baby! I’m up by twenty,” she said, fishing inside the bag for another one. Steve took it from her and aimed. It barely grazed the cup. “You ask your boy about tonight?” she said.

Steve almost told her he wasn’t his boy, but reconsidered. Billy kind of was his boy. Well, he wasn’t seeing any other boys at least. Or girls. “Yeah, he’s coming,” he said.

“As your date?”

“No, jesus. We can’t do that crap here,” he said. He’d also been thinking about that. He didn’t like sneaking around with Billy. Dustin had asked him if he was seeing anyone the other day since they’ve been hanging out less. He’d lied about being stressed out about applying to school—okay, it wasn’t really a lie. But it also wasn’t the truth. He guessed Robin was the only person he could talk to about this.

“You know, there are places where no one would bat an eye at you two,” she said, making her shot. Of course, she frickin’ got it. Steve sadly added five more points to her score on the shiftboard.

“Like where?” he said. “Your pizza place?”

“You liked that, did you? No, like LA, San Francisco, New York. Pretty much anywhere but here,” she said. “Maybe your boy will end up there or something and you can visit him.”

“Maybe,” said Steve. He aimed for a middle cup this time. The oreo hit its rim and knocked it over. God dammit. “We haven’t really talked about shit like that. Like what happens when he leaves.” He hadn’t even told Billy about thinkin’ of him as his boyfriend. Whenever he thought about bringing it up he felt kind of nauseous. What if Billy just thought they were fucking around. What if he was fucking around with other people already?

“Do you want something to happen?” said Robin.

He frowned down at his oreo. Who wouldn’t want to fuck around with Billy? He looked like—like some kind of God or something. He could have anyone. “I don’t know,” said Steve slowly. “It would suck if I never saw him again.”

Robin leaned forward in her chair. “He’ll probably come back and visit, though. Doesn’t he have family here?”

Steve thought about Billy’s Dad beating on him. “Yeah, I don’t think he’d want to come visit.”

“He has you.”

“Oh, real tempting.” Steve snorted. “He might not come back just for me.” His stomach was knotting up thinking about never seeing Billy again. Or Billy hookin’ up with other guys. He was really starting to feel sick.

Robin took his oreo from him and ate it. “Ask him, dummy. Then you’ll know.”

Steve didn’t say anything. He didn’t know if he wanted to ask Billy and get an answer he didn’t like.

 

+++

 

He drove over to Steve’s around eight. Harrington didn’t keep his door locked so Billy walked right in. He wanted to smack Harrington over the head for bein’ so stupid, but then he caught sight of Steve in the kitchen, singin’ his fucking Janis Joplin and making a sandwich. 

He was dancing, moving his amazing butt and belting the lyrics at the top of his voice. Billy’s heart clenched up. He came up behind him and slid his arms around his waist and rested his chin on his shoulder. Steve didn’t stop singing or dancing. They swayed together.

Steve smelled like hairspray and cologne and Steve. He inhaled deeply. Finally, Steve finished up his sandwich. He offered half of it to Billy and they ate together standing over the sink. Steve watched Billy eat his entire share. Then he watched him rinse the plate off. When he turned to him, Steve had his lip caught between his teeth.

“What man?” he snapped.

Steve stepped into his space, sliding his hands over his hips. “What, I can’t look at you? You look good.”

Billy didn’t know what Harrington was talking about. If anyone looked good, it was Steve. He was wearing a tight T-shirt and a pair of acid wash jeans. Billy particularly liked these jeans because they accentuated Harrington’s big amazing dick. “You tryna charm your way into my pants?” said Billy, plucking at his belt loops.

Steve raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Looks like you’re trying to get into mine.” Unfortunately, Billy didn’t get to implement his sexy plan and get Steve’s big amazing dick out, because Harrington moved away from him and tapped his watch like a mom. “You wanna head out?”

No, he wanted to push Steve onto the kitchen counter and fuck him. He wanted to stay inside this big house where no one could ask why Steve was hanging around someone like Billy Hargrove. Sooner or later someone would ask. He knew that.

Steve raised his brow even higher when he didn’t immediately answer. “Sure,” said Billy, trying not to be an asshole. He didn’t need to be an asshole tonight. Well, he could try.

They took the Bimmer, even though Billy thought they should probably drive separate cars; Steve only looked at him like he was the village idiot when he suggested it. So, here they were, driving up to the quarry together in Steve’s fancy rich boy car.

They pulled off the road onto a flattened clearing of grass, joining the sprawling lineup of parked cars. Billy flipped the console top open and started digging around for a flask. When he looked up, he caught Steve smirking at him. “You lose something?” he said.

“You got that flask on you still?” said Billy. He was already getting antsy. Still smirking, Steve leaned over him to pop open the glove compartment. He handed the flask over and Billy took a long, cough-inducing slug from it.

He moved to push the door open but Steve pulled him back with a warm hand on his neck. He kissed him, long and deep. Immediate panic sprung inside him. Billy almost shoved him away but stopped himself at the last minute. Steve pulled back after a second, brows knitted together. “What’s wrong?”

“We can’t do that shit,” said Billy harshly. “Not here. Jesus.”

“Okay…” he said. “So, what, I can blow you at a movie theater but I can’t kiss you in my own car?”

“There wasn’t anyone we fuckin’ knew at the movie theater. C’mon Harrington, use your fuckin’ head for a minute. What if someone saw us?” Neil’s voice sprung into his mind.  _ Anyone I’d know? I’d really like to meet them. _

Steve scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Can you chill out? No one fuckin’ saw us.”

“Harrington.”

“ _ What _ ? Jesus Christ, fine. I won’t kiss you.” He pushed the door open and stepped out. “When you’re done being a dick, come find me,” he said without looking back.

Billy settled into the seat feeling hot, sticky anger bubbling inside him. He nursed it with each sip of whisky. Of course Harrington never had to think about that shit. His old man was a prick but he wasn’t Neil Hargrove.

The anger turned over in his belly. Steve wasn’t like Billy. He could just turn back to Nancy fucking Wheeler the moment Billy was out of town. Someone easy. He wouldn’t need to think twice about kissing her.

Billy kept drinking until he felt his face go numb. The door clunked open and he stumbled out. Even from here he could hear the music playing. He walked the thin path leading down to the gravel beach and almost fell twice. He couldn’t see Steve from here. There  _ were _ a lot of people; they looked like a swarming mass.

The first person he saw when he finally reached everyone was Nancy fuckin’ Wheeler. It was almost poetic. His stomach flipped again. He took a swig from the flask and stalked past her. The second person he saw was Tommy. That was alright. His face lit up when he noticed Billy walking his way. Tess and Carol were standing next to him. Billy ignored both of them. He could feel Tess glaring at him as Tommy slung an arm over his shoulder, pulling him close.

“Hey there amigo, haven’t seen your ugly face in a while,” he said.

“Long enough for me to forget about yours,” he said. Tommy thumped him on the back.

“Basic is getting close, right? How long before you leave?”

“Two weeks from today.”

“Shit, well, if you find yourself back in this hell hole, I’ll buy you a drink.”

Billy grinned, although he didn’t fuckin’ feel like it. “I’ll need more than one if I come back here.”

Over Tommy’s shoulder, Billy caught sight of Harrington’s hair. He wasn’t even looking for him, but maybe some subconscious part of him really was magnetized to him. He was standing next to a girl Billy didn’t recognize. She must have graduated already. Probably was visiting from school. He watched her slide a red cup into Steve’s hand. He made a comment and she threw her head back, laughing.

Billy couldn’t look away from them. He took a drink from the flask. Tommy was talking about how he was headed back to school in a few weeks, but Billy wasn’t listening. Steve was laughing now too. They looked good standing next to each other. Picture perfect. If Billy liked that kind of thing, he’d say she was pretty.

Someone bumped their shoulder into him. He turned on instinct to tell them to fuck off but found himself looking down at Robin. She had dark eyeliner on and glossy lipstick. Her hair was done up into two small pigtails. She seemed at ease even though she stuck out like a sore dyke thumb around the hicks of Hawkins.

“Hey, it’s Billy Hargrove,” she said, swiping the flask from him. “Where’s Harrington?”

Billy lifted his shoulder up; he didn’t want to look over at him again.

Her smile slowly fell. She studied him with a slightly arched eyebrow. Billy felt like she was looking into his brain. Taking another considering sip, she said, “You wanna find him with me?”

He didn’t. He wanted to drink the rest of the flask until he blacked out. He wanted to pick a fight that would make his knuckles bleed. He said sure. They parted the crowd together, coming to stand next to Harrington and his mystery girl. Billy tried not to glare at her or anything. It was hard.

Steve smiled when he saw Robin. He avoided eye contact with Billy. “Hey! You made it,” he said to her.

Robin gave him a bored face. “I invited you, Stevie Nicks. Course I’m here. Who’s the lady friend?” she said, turning to look at the girl. Steve’s mouth twisted down into a frown. Billy didn’t know what that meant.

“I’m Elizabeth. Steve and I were just catching up,” she said, holding her hand out. Robin didn’t raise hers. She kept staring at her hand until the girl awkwardly dropped it back to her side. Steve still wasn’t looking at Billy. Maybe he wanted to go home with this chick or something and Billy was ruining his chance. Jesus. His throat ached thinking about it, so he chased the feeling away with a shot from the flask.

“We’ll let you get back to that,” he snapped, putting his arm over Robin’s shoulder and steering her away. She kept looking back at Steve.

“What’d you guys fight about?” she said once they were out of earshot.

“Who said we had a fuckin’ fight?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is that how you flirt? Glaring until one of you takes your pants off?”

Billy took his arm off her since they were a suitable distance away from Steve. When he looked back, he saw Nancy Wheeler picking her way to him. Of course. At least Harrington was fuckin’ looking at him now.

“We ain’t fighting,” he said again.

“Did he do something stupid? He does that sometimes.”

“Look—this kind of shit probably works on Harrington, but I’m really not in the fuckin’ mood to play twenty questions with you,” he snapped. He heard Robin scoff next to him. Then she plucked the flask away from him again.

“What about beer pong?” she said. Billy followed her nod to a bunch of people crowded around a foldable table. Wordlessly, he started walking toward it and after a moment, she followed.

Robin, it turned out, was really fuckin’ good at beer pong. She made nearly every shot, and Billy lost almost every one. He didn’t mind. He wanted to keep that numb feeling in his cheeks. In between every round he lost, he took a swig from the flask. It was almost gone by now. He’d stopped looking for Steve around thirty-minutes in. Last he’d seen him, he was still talking to Nancy.

Thinking about them fucking was like poking at an aching tooth. Every flashing image in his mind pained him, a small, needling ache that built up behind his ribs. He could picture the exact expression on Steve’s face while he fucked her. He’d seen it enough. He’d look at her like she was someone special. They’d be fuckin’ real slow. Maybe he’d eat her pussy first, get her nice and ready. Jesus  _ fuck. _

Billy lost another round and knocked back the drink in one swallow. He threw it onto the ground and started stalking toward Harrington. Robin knocked her drink back too even though she hadn’t lost.

“Woah, buddy, where you headin’ off to,” she said, jogging backwards in front of him.

“Gotta talk to Harrington,” he said.

“Okay, I am obligated to ask. Are you about to make a scene?” she said.

He didn’t answer her. Steve looked up at him approaching. His eyes were so bright, reflecting the light from the fire.

Nancy and Elizabeth kept on talking, barely even aware he’d joined them. He stood close enough to Steve to brush him with his shoulder. “We need to talk,” he said, leaning down.

“I’m with people right now,” Steve whispered back at him.

“Five minutes. Your girl won’t even notice you’re gone,” he said. Steve’s eyes flashed. His mouth twisted up, almost resembling the disgusted way he used to look at Billy. He wondered if he was gonna hit him again. Billy braced himself for it. He barely stumbled back when Steve shouldered past him.

They walked in tense silence to the car. When they reached the Bimmer, Steve spun around to face him. “What the  _ fuck _ ?” he said.

Billy immediately crowded into his space, tangling his hands in Steve’s hair. He pulled him closer. “You gonna think about me when you fuck her?” he whispered against his neck. He bit at it, wanting to suck a bruise into his skin where everyone could see. Steve pushed him back,  _ hard _ .

Billy stumbled a little. He flashed his teeth at Steve. “What, thought you wanted to give me a kiss?” he said.

“You’re being a total fucking asshole right now,” said Steve.

“Maybe that’s just me.  _ Maybe _ you don’t like me so much after all.” Billy stepped back into his space, caging Steve in with his hands. He fisted Billy’s shirt but didn’t push him away again.

“ Why are you acting like this? What the fuck happened?”

Billy pressed his nose against the soft skin of Steve’s neck, inhaling his scent again. He smelled like smoke this time. The ache inside him twisted, quietly stealing his breath. “Y’know, it’s gotta be real nice walkin’ around, doin’ exactly what you want all the time,” he sneered.

“ _ What _ ?”

“Fuckin’ girls, fuckin’ guys. Bet you’re used to everyone kneeling for your cock.” Billy rubbed his thumb into the tender spot on his neck, pleased when Steve flinched away from him.

“Jesus Christ, that’s fuckin’ rich. Do you think—do you think I actually  _ want _ this?” said Steve. Billy forced himself not to flinch from the words. His chest felt so heavy, burdened by all his swarming thoughts. He pressed his thumb harder into the bruise. Steve gave him another hard shove but he was ready for it. He barely even stumbled.

“You think I’d choose you if I fuckin’ could?” said Steve. “ _ Anyone _ else would be fuckin’ easier. You know, half the time we’re together I don’t even know if you like me! Maybe—maybe I’m just the only person stupid enough to fuck you! ”

A curious sting pricked at his eyes. His face felt hot all over. He wanted to punch Harrington. He imagined himself doing it. He already had the muscle memory stored away, ready to come out at any moment. But he couldn’t make himself do it. So he threw him back against the car door.

“Yeah maybe you are,” he bit out. “Lappin’ up anyone’s attention like a starved bitch.”

He opened his mouth to say more, but the sound of crunching gravel stopped him. Both he and Steve froze, staring dumbly at the guy walking down the path with a six-pack dangling from his hand. No one moved for a moment. Then everything lunged into motion. The guy shot a hand out, placating, but Billy was already moving toward him.

“Billy, Jesus,” he heard Steve say behind him. It sounded fuzzy like Harrington was speaking through water.

Billy got a hand around the guy’s throat, hauling him up to face level. He was shorter than Billy. Something calm unfurled in him seeing the watery look of fear staring back at him. It wasn’t Harrington lookin at him with disgust.

“Look, man, I didn’t hear shit,” he said, both hands up now. He’d dropped the six-pack. One of the cans exploded and spewed out over the gravel with a hissing noise.

“Yeah, what didn’t you hear? Walk me through it,” he said.

He thought Steve said his name again, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Seriously, nothing. I—I didn’t hear shit,” he stuttered. Billy could feel his heart knocking against his fist curled into the guy’s shirt. He threw him to the ground. The sound of his body hitting the gravel echoed around them.

“Say it again,” said Billy. He gave his side a sharp kick and lapped up the resounding moan.

“I heard  _ nothing _ ,” he wheezed. Billy kicked him again, and this time he heard a crunch under his boot. The guy doubled over onto himself, curling inward like a dying bug. Billy crouched down next to him. He yanked him over by the shoulder so they were looking at each other. His eyes were bright, brimmed with tears of pain.

“If that changes, I’ll know,” he said softly.  “It’ll be a lot worse for you then.”

A light hand touched his shoulder. Billy shrugged Steve off him. He couldn’t handle him touching him. Not now. Throwing the guy back into the gravel, he stalked off down the road. The quarry was closer to Harrington’s place than his. Still, it would take about an hour to walk all the way back.

After about twenty minutes, headlights parted the dark road in front of him. The Bimmer crawled along beside him. “You really walkin’ home?” said Steve.

“To my car,” said Billy. He tapped out a cigarette and struggled to light it. His hands were shaking too bad.

“Can I drive you?”

“Why? Got more to say?”

“C’mon. Please.”

Billy stopped walking. He directed plumes of smoke up into the night. Steve idled silently next to him. When he’d smoked half his cigarette, he stubbed it out, rounding the car.

They weren’t headed to Steve’s house. Billy knew that much. He examined the blur of Hawkins passing them by.

“Earlier, when I kissed you, I wasn’t thinking,” said Steve quietly. “Just wanted to do it, so I did.”

Billy swallowed a couple times. “That kind of stuff will get you killed. Rule number one of being a faggot.”

Steve flinched at the word. “I wasn’t thinking,” he said again.

Billy thought,  _ obviously _ , and didn’t say it. They lapsed into silence again. The blur of Hawkins slowly resolved into something he recognized. They were headed toward the McDonald’s.

Steve parked in their usual spot. Billy felt like he was vibrating out of his skin. His hands were shaking still, even though he’d smoked two cigarettes. The numbness in his face was back, but it wasn’t from the alcohol.

“Will you say something?” begged Steve.

“What? You want me to fuckin’ apologize or somethin’?” he snapped.

“No.”

“Say sorry for throwing that guy around?” Billy looked at him. “Do you fuckin’ know what will happen if any of that shit gets back to my old man?”

Steve looked at him like he was pained. Like Billy really had hit him. “No, I don’t want you to apologize.”

“What  _ do  _ you want?” he snarled.

Immediately, Steve said, “I want to touch you. Can I do that?” Steve was leaning against the center console. He looked like he was about to leap over it or something. Slowly, Billy nodded.

Steve reached out, curling a big hand around his nape. Billy bit his lip hard to fight the heat behind his eyes. It was going to hurt so much when Steve stopped looking at him that way. When he forgot about Billy Hargrove afterall.

He leaned in when Steve did, meeting him halfway to their kiss. A small sound escaped him. He clutched at Steve’s shoulders, urging him closer, and Steve scrambled over the console. He settled into Billy’s lap, pressing into him.

“I do, y’know,” said Billy against his mouth. When Steve didn’t say anything, he added, “Like you.”

Harrington pulled away. He watched his throat work. “Yeah?” Billy nodded. Steve rubbed his thumbs over Billy’s cheeks. He said, “Y’know, I wasn’t gonna hook up with that girl or anything. I haven’t uh—you’re the only person I’ve been doing that stuff with.”

Billy blinked, inhaling a shuddering sigh. “Guess me too,” he said quietly.

“I don’t really even think about anyone else. Don’t think I can.”

That curious sting behind his eyes started up again. “Thought I was a pain in your ass.”

“Only sometimes,” said Harrington.

He had a death grip on Steve's hair but he wasn't complaining. Billy felt like he was gonna pass out or something, like every kiss was stealing his breath away. He didn’t even realize he was hard until Steve cupped him through his jeans.

Suddenly, the urge to have him inside him was overwhelming. Billy fumbled with the lever, and the seat fell back. “Fuck me,” he said, getting a hand between them to fumble his belt and zip open.

“What, now?” said Steve, eyes going glazed as he watched Billy slick up his fingers with spit. He gave him a jerky nod and reached behind himself. He got a finger, then two, inside before he had to add more spit. It burned.

“We can—I have lube at the house,” said Steve.

“Harrington.  _ Please _ ,” he begged. Steve nodded breathlessly. He watched Billy’s hand disappearing inside himself, working him open. Steve fumbled with his jeans, parting his fly around his thick cock. It was flushed red and wet at the tip.

“Backseat,” he said when Billy added a third finger. His thighs were tacky, shaking under his fingers. He only nodded, feeling like he couldn’t talk again.

Billy climbed into the backseat, and when he tried to turn over on his hands and knees, Steve gently turned him the other way. He let him.

Steve’s hand joined his between their bodies, stroking over his hole. Billy clutched at his arm. “Steve,” he said. “It’s good, I’m good.”

“Okay, okay.” He spit into his hand, rubbing it over his swollen length. Billy felt physically empty. Like a part of him had been carved away and he needed to fill it back up. He urged him forward with a guiding hand on his hip, but Harrington took his time positioning himself.

The first push choked a low moan out of him. It burned like hell, but mingling with the pain was the glowing knowledge that this was Steve. Steve inside him, filling him back up. His cock kicked against Steve’s belly. He was so hard the head of his cock was flushed purple. He dragged a glistening line of precome over Steve’s abs every time he moved.

Harrington leaned down to smudge a messy kiss against him. Billy clutched at his hair again, making sure he couldn’t pull away. His hips snapped against Billy’s with bruising force. He was gonna fucking come.

He clutched Steve to him when he did, body arching and going tight as he spilled hot and messy between them. Steve moaned into his mouth.

“God, baby, you feel so good,” he panted. Billy licked the word out of his mouth—he’d never called Billy that before.

Steve came with his mouth pressed to Billy’s, his cock pulsing inside him. When he tried to move back, Billy kept him there. So Steve lay on top of him, cock gradually softening inside him.

He kept nuzzling at the soft skin behind Billy’s ear. Their breaths mingled together, indistinguishable from one another. “I do, y’know,” said Steve after a long time. When Billy looked at him, he added, “Want this.” 

Billy bit at the tender bruise on Steve’s neck. Lips pressed against him, he whispered, “Guess me too.”


	9. 9.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy meets Steve's Dad and nothing goes according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I am so so sorry this is two days late. This was such a difficult chapter for me to write, and I'm still not satisfied with it completely, but at some point I need to stop looking at it. So here it is. Released to you. In advance, I apologize for everything down below.

Billy felt totally stupid. He almost turned the car around like eighty times, but then he didn't. He looked at the swirling pole outside the barber shop window until his cigarette had whittled down to the filter. It burned his finger. He threw it onto the pavement and walked slowly inside, wishing, for the eighty-first time, he’d turned around.

 

About an hour later Max paused in the middle of pouring orange juice when he walked in. Susan was still reading the paper. It was Friday. Good cartoons on Friday. He and Steve were taking their big gay trip tomorrow.

“Woah,” said Max.

“Can it,” he said immediately. That made Susan lookup. Her brows slowly rose on her forehead, nearly touching her bangs.

“You look really nice, Billy,” she said softly, giving him a small smile.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen the back of your head before,” said Max. “Looks weird,” she added.

“Maxine!” said Susan immediately.

Without thinking he touched his nape. His whole head felt lighter without all that “pansy hair,” as his dad would say. It felt strange.

“Yeah. Was getting hot,” he mumbled. Then he busied himself with pouring coffee and stealing Max’s toast—“HEY!”—and dashing off to work before anyone could interrogate him further.

 

+++

 

Steve was suffering through an impromptu D&D session at his house. The kids had completely taken over his kitchen table, and there were somehow chip crumbs all over the carpet in the living room even though no one was in the living room.

He was struggling to lug the vacuum down the stairs when the phone rang. It clanged down the steps when he accidentally let it go.

“STEVE DID YOU DIE??” yelled Dustin. Then, at a reasonable volume level, “Your phone is ringing.”

“Yeah, weird, I have ears,” he said, sliding into the kitchen on his socks. He yanked the phone off the wall on the fifth ring. “Harrington residence,” he said all out of breath.

“Steven,” said Dad. Shit. “Can you talk?”

He slid a look over to the kids and rounded the doorway, pulling the chord as far as it would go. The sounds of their voices quieted marginally. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you about bringing this friend of yours. It’s important we give Danny the right impression.”

Steve rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling. “Yeah, what’s the right impression?”

“That you’re serious about asking for his guidance.”

“Yeah, I _am_ serious.” Dad didn’t say anything so he continued, “I printed my resume like you said, and look—I’m killing two birds with one stone. He’s never had a chance to see the city before. And y’know, he’s enlisting, so—might be a while before he can do crap like that.”

He heard Dad hum. More trickling silence. Steve wound and unwound the chord around his wrist until the tips of his fingers turned purple. Then: “You’ll drive up together?”

“Yes, and meet you by noon.”

“Eleven-thirty,” said Dad.

Steve sighed. He heard a small crash in the other room. “Eleven-thirty.”

 

+++

 

Ted lifted the pitcher of lemonade and Billy handed his glass over. The airconditioning inside the Bueller house worked real well, better than the shit AC at home. The sweat on his back was already drying.

Ted’s glass clinked on the tile counter when he sat it down. “So we only have you for about a week now right?” he said, rubbing at his sun-red neck. 

Billy nodded with the glass still to his lips. He finished it in about three gulps. Ted immediately filled it back up. “Y’know, you ever need anything, we got some friends out in San Francisco we can set you up with. Don’t imagine you’ll find your way back here too often.” He made a face when he said it. Billy never mentioned his old man around Ted, but maybe he had some kind of hunch. Billy wasn't too careful about covering up his bruises.  

“Thanks, man. We’ll see where they ship me to,” he said.

Ted kept nodding. “Got something for you—no, don’t make that face. It ain’t much.”

“Jesus, didn’t have to get me nothin’,” he grumbled while Ted fished around in a drawer for an envelope.

“Technically you got this for yourself,” he said.

Billy took the envelope and peered inside at a large fan of cash. He stared, feeling himself make the kind of expression that had Ted smiling.  

“That’s your last paycheck in advance."

“Looks like more’n just my paycheck,” he said, lightly touching the stack. It was a lot more. He could feel the weight of Ted eyeing him up. 

“Might be a little more,” he confirmed, sniffing. 

“Shit man, you don’t—you didn’t have to—”

“Take the damn money, Bill. First Summer I didn’t have to lug one of my boys out here by the ear. Can’t put a price on that.”

Billy took the damn money.

 

Of course, things went to shit after that. Always did after something nice. Billy got home around seven. Neil was parked behind Susan like always, but the front door of the house was open. And his shit was all over the lawn. Billy shoved his way out of the Camaro.

He heard yelling when he got inside—Susan, by the sounds of it. He looked around for Max, thinkin' maybe his old man finally grabbed at her. “Neil, I’m sure it was a misunderstand—” Something crashed. Sounded like his radio. Fuck.  “ _Jesus_ Neil,” cried Susan.

When he appeared in the doorway to his room, everything went eerily quiet. Susan looked at him with big, stricken eyes. His throat worked as he looked over his room. Buncha broken tapes on the floor. His mattress overturned. The mirror broken. Neil was holding his fuckin leather jacket.

“What the fuck, man?” he breathed. The stillness shattered.

Neil pounded up to him, hauling him up by his shirt front and slamming him against the wall. Felt like his stomach followed behind his body, swooping inside him. Susan said Neil's name again. “Where the fuck is it you little piece of shit?” he seethed, voice low, every word punched out between the joins of his teeth. 

Billy’s brain went dark. His thoughts were swarming, and now Neil’s hand was around his throat again, constricting all the words caught in his throat to make it better. He was so fuckin' stupid. He'd thought things might be better—fucking hell. “What’re you talking about?” he managed to say. Didn’t even sound like his own voice talking.

Neil sucked at his teeth. He grinned. “Oh, now you’re lying about it. And to my face.” He looked over his shoulder at Susan. “Why don’t you ask him? After all, it was your money he took.”

He threw Billy against the wall again. His head cracked against it, seesawing back on his neck. Neil got real close to him. He could smell the stale impression of cigarettes on his breath. “You buy somethin’ nice, Billy? Take your faggot boyfriend out?”

“I didn’t take any fuckin money,” he whispered. Every word hurt to push out past the tourniquet of Neil's hands. 

“Neil, please—just drop it okay? You—I might have misplaced it. You know how I can be—”

“Think you deserve a little more than the rest of us, hm?” Neil said over her. “All we do for you. Buying your faggot clothes and letting you drive your piece of shit car and putting goddamn food on your plate every night—and you think it isn’t enough. Imagine that. My ungrateful son everyone!” he called over his shoulder to Susan. 

"Neil. Please. Let's just talk about this," she said. Her voice had an edge of steel to it. He wondered how far Neil would need to take it before that steel was worth anything. 

Billy tried to swallow. His throat was flooding with saliva and he felt like he was about to throw up. “I didn’t take any money,” he said again, enunciating each word.

He saw Neil’s face contort into anger before his head smashed back against the wall. A flash of white, then black, bled across his vision. “You lying little faggot,” screamed Neil, throwing him onto the floor. He straddled Billy, pinning him with his hand around his throat. Some kind of survival instinct must have finally kicked in, because he was struggling beneath him, trying to throw him off. Distantly he heard Susan crying.

“Should we call your little boyfriend, Billy boy? Ask him if he knows anything about it?” Neil smashed a piece of paper against his face, and it took him a moment to realize it was fuckin’ Harrington’s number.

“Man, you’re crazy,” wheezed Billy, gripping at Neil’s arm with white knuckles. His throat was fucking burning, closing up. “Didn’t take—no fuckin’ money.”

“Neil, oh my god. Neil, stop. He can’t breathe,” yelled Susan.

Billy managed to lever a leg up far enough to flip them. Neil still had a hand over his throat but Billy got a grip at his old man’s scalp. The fine hairs ripped up beneath his fist, drawing a yell from Neil. 

“Oh my god Billy!” Max. Shit. When had Max gotten here? 

Everything paused again. Neil shoved him away and Billy fell onto his side coughing. Air rushed into his throat so fast he couldn't gulp it down properly. 

“Susan get her out of here!” said Neil.

“Maxine, honey—“

“What are you doing to him?” screamed Max. Billy was still coughing. He spit onto the carpet and clutched at his throat. His saliva was tinged red. Every inhale hurt his chest.

“Max, it’s fine,” he wheezed, holding a hand out to her. 

“—Max, sweetie—.”

“Get her the _fuck_ out of here I said!”

“Maxine,” coughed Billy. “Seriously. Go. It’s fine.” He swayed to his feet, nearly falling over twice. Everything felt far away and slow. His head was going to float off somewhere. Neil was a fuzzy shape in front of him. The only person he felt he could really see was Max, the blaze of her hair giving him something to focus on. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out some of Ted’s money. He threw it on the floor at Neil’s feet. “Your fuckin’ money,” he said and dragged himself to the Camaro.

 

He didn’t know how long he sat there. Billy watched Neil’s car peel out of their driveway. He watched Susan gingerly picking his things off the lawn—he wanted to tell her not to do that, but he didn’t feel like he was in his own body anymore. Probably for the best. It hurt too much.

Sometime after dark, Max found him. He jerked in his seat at the sound of the door opening. The leather seat creaked under her weight. She was a smudge of red at the corner of his eye. He found he couldn’t look at her.

“You look like shit,” she said finally.

“Thanks.”

“Jesus, your neck Billy.”

Absently, he touched where Neil had him by the throat. Even the lightest graze ached. “Pretty right?” he huffed.

“We should—you should get that looked at.”

“Yeah, by who?” he snapped. He finally looked at her. She was leaning over the console, her big eyes wide and wet. He immediately felt like a sack of shit. Looked like she’d been crying over him. She didn’t need to cry over him.

Taking a big breath, she said, “Remember California—”

“Max,” begged Billy. “C’mon. _Please_. I’m fine. Don’t need anybody to look at anything. Just gotta—give me a minute. I’ll be fine,” he said again.

“Are you going to stay with Steve?” she said after a moment.

“Why would I stay with fuckin Harrington?” he snapped. Jesus, thinking about turning up on Steve’s doorstep like this made his stomach churn. Even though that’s exactly what he wanted to do. It was so fuckin’ pathetic. He’d dealt with worse from his old man. Like Max fuckin’ said— _California_.

“He’s your friend right?” she said carefully. “You said he isn’t too bad.”

“He’s alright.” Billy thought about how good he felt in Steve’s bed. How he hogged all the blankets and farted in his sleep. Harrington didn’t like how big and empty the house was, Billy knew that, but it was like this secret space just for them. He could kiss on Steve as much as he wanted. He wanted so _much_ right now. The weight of wanting pressed into him from all sides, crushing. Jesus, Harrington didn’t need to deal with his crap. Nancy Wheeler probably never turned up on Steve’s doorstep lookin’ like Billy. Wanting like Billy.

He wasn’t easy. Steve had said it. He dug a hand into his eye to push the burn away. “Man, I just need to sit, okay?”

“Okay,” said Max.

He pressed his forehead against the glass to drive the heat in his cheeks away. Max puttered around next to him. He heard her rifling through his tapes—they were about the only ones he had left.

After a couple moments, Joy Division's "Digital" started playing. It gave him something to concentrate on. They sat together in silence until side A ended.

Headlights appeared down the street, pinpricks of light in the dead Hawkins' air. Billy immediately tensed up. Usually, Neil left for the night after a big fight, but maybe he wasn’t done with Billy yet.

The car crept closer, and now he could see the familiar shape of Steve’s hair. He suddenly felt tense for another reason.

The BMW pulled up beside him. Harrington rolled his window down at the same time Billy opened his car door.

“Hey—” Steve started, then stopped when he saw Billy more clearly. His face fell. “Holy _shit_ , Billy, what—what the fuck happened?”

“Man, you cannot be here right now,” said Billy, fear curling around him. Neil might be gone and he might not be.

“Your fuckin’ throat, holy shit,” said Harrington. He looked like he was about to get out of the car.

“Harrington, I’m fucking serious. Go home man.”

It was like he wasn’t hearing him. Steve’s eyes were so big, trained on his throat. His hand was curled around the window like he’d launch himself through it. “What, uh—your throat—” he stuttered.

“Steve, you should go,” said Max quietly. That seemed to break the trance. His eyes flitted over to her and back to Billy. Back to his neck. Steve’s mouth curled into a severe frown. Billy felt guilty, making Harrington look at him like that.

“I’ll swing by,” said Billy, just so he would leave. God, he needed Harrington to leave. “Tell you what happened, okay?”

He still looked like he was gonna climb out of his car. “Okay,” he said faintly. “I’ll leave the door unlocked.” Billy nodded, looking away from him; he didn’t need to see anymore pity on anymore faces.

Finally, Harrington drove away and he could breathe again.

 

+++

 

Around eleven, Steve heard the roar of the Camaro kicking up the street. He hauled himself over the couch and to the door, throwing it open in time to see Billy pull into their empty driveway.

Dad was already in Indianapolis and Mom was at a conference out in Nevada. He’d never been more thankful to be by himself. The Camaro went dark when Billy cut his lights. He didn’t make a move to get out of the car, so Steve picked his way over to him and slid inside. The smell of leather and smoke wafted around him. Kinda smelled like Billy. Steve found it comforting.

Billy had both hands rested on the steering wheel, gripped so tight the skin of his knuckles was bleached of color. Steve wanted so badly to touch him but he knew enough about Billy by now to wait.

“What’s that movie you love? _Casablanca_ right?” whispered Billy.

“Yeah.”

He watched Billy’s hands wringing out the wheel. “Wanna watch it?”

“Yeah? You want to?” he said.

Billy didn’t answer him. He pried his hands off the wheel slowly and opened the car door even slower. Steve drifted after him into the house like a shadow, taking pains to shut the door behind them as quietly as possible. Billy frowned at him.

“Gonna lock it?” he said in this weird voice, so Steve locked it.

Under the warm lights of his foyer, he could see how bad the bruising around Billy’s neck looked. It was raw, dark red. Looked almost like someone had cut his throat. Just looking at him made him feel nauseous with anger. He knew it was Billy’s old man. He just fucking knew it. An image of the bat flashed into his mind, just for a second. Probably wouldn’t be much worse than taking on a demodog.

“ _Casablanca_?” Steve whispered, already heading for the living room. He got the movie set up and the lights turned low. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, settling it on the coffee table. Billy was still just standing in the foyer. Steve felt so fucking restless, but somehow he forced himself to sit down on the couch and wait.

About ten minutes into the opening credits, Billy settled next to him.

Steve gestured to the beer. “For you. If you want it.”

Billy took a long sip of beer and Steve tried not to look at the horrible bruises on his neck moving every time he did. He passed the bottle over to Steve. They shared it until it was empty; Steve grabbed another beer and they shared that one too.

When that was gone, Billy rolled the empty bottle between his palms. Neither of them was watching the movie. “He thought I hawked a buncha money off him,” said Billy, directing it at the beer bottle. “My old man,” he added like Steve didn’t know Billy’s dad was a piece of total shit.

“Jesus Christ. All— _that_ over some money?” said Steve, eyeing the livid bruising around his neck. It was like some morbid attraction, compelling him to look at it every couple seconds just to see if it was still as bad as the last time. It was always worse. 

Billy huffed out a bare laugh. “Worst part, I didn’t even take nothin’ from him. Paid him anyways though.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s the worst part,” said Steve. “Do you wanna go somewhere? Like, have someone look at that? It looks really bad.”

Billy’s head snapped up. His eyes flashed when the scene changed. “Don’t need to fuckin’ see anyone,” he said. “It’s fine,” he amended, maybe seeing the face Steve was making. “Looks worse than it is.”

Steve didn’t see how that was fucking possible but he decided to drop it. “Why’d he even think you stole money from him anyway?”

That got a bitter laugh from Billy. “Shit man, who knows? Asshole probably drank the money away. Or, shit, maybe he got bored, wanted to start shit with me.”

Steve swallowed. “Does he, uh, do that?” His voice stupidly pitched up at the end.

Billy frowned down at the bottle in his hands. He sucked on his teeth, head cocked to the side. “Not the first time. I ever mention why we moved? From California?”

Steve shook his head.

Billy's smile was fleeting and tired. “Started shit with me and got the fuckin’ cops called on our house.”

“Jesus. Over what?” He made himself ask if even though he didn’t want to fuckin’ know. He was already thinking too much about how easy it would be to take a bat to his old man’s head.

Billy’s mouth spasmed. He caught the corner of his bottom lip with a sharp tooth. “Over a fuckin’ magazine if you can believe it,” he said.

“Over a—what, a _magazine_? Seriously?”

Billy’s throat worked a couple times, like he was forcibly pushing the words out. “Yeah. Was a—this Playboy or whatever. Had a picture I kept in it. Pops found it and…”

Steve waited. He shifted on the couch so he was facing Billy with his legs crossed. “Picture of what?”

Billy bit at his lip even harder. “This guy. Didn’t even know him or anything. Just—ran in the same circles. Saw him around. Think he went into my room lookin’ for something and he, uh, he found it.”

“Like he already knew? About you?”

Finally, Billy settled the bottle back onto the table. He had his stare fixated on a point in the distance, his sharp eyes gone hazy like he was sorting through his memories. “Been calling me a faggot from day one. Maybe he saw something no one else did.”

Jesus _Christ_ . “Jesus Christ,” he said. Billy dug the heel of his palm into his eye again. He remembered Billy saying, _do you fuckin’ know what will happen if any of that shit gets back to my old man?_ Jesus fucking Christ. Looking at the bruises around his neck, Steve felt nauseous again.

“Yeah, shit. What time is it?” said Billy, pulling him away from his thoughts. Steve blinked over at him. “We’re headed up early tomorrow right?”

For a moment, Steve had no idea what the hell he was talking about. Then he remembered. Indianapolis. “Yeah, no, Billy—we don’t have to go up tomorrow. Not after...Jesus. I’ll just call my Dad—”

“C’mon, no,” said Billy right away. “What, this is important right? You’re meeting important people?”

“Yeah, I don’t care about that. I’ll just call my Dad. It’s fine.”

“Harrington,” said Billy seriously. “I don’t want you to do that.”

“Well I _want_ to do it. You—okay, you could have fuckin’ died! Making nice with my dad is like the last thing I care about.”

Billy immediately rolled his eyes, scoffing, “I didn’t almost _die_ , Jesus.”

“Do you even know what you look like? It looks like your dad tried to fuckin wring your neck or something! That shit is serious.” All he could think about was this time a social worker visited his health class, talking all kinds of crap about _domestic violence_ . She said strangulation was the best indicator someone was gonna kill you. _Could_ kill you.

“Told you I was fuckin fine man!” yelled Billy. Steve’s mouth snapped shut. Billy hadn’t talked like that to him in a long time. “Look—this shit, it’s your future right? It’s for school? Just gimme a fuckin’ turtle neck and send me up there.”

“I don’t know if I even want to go to school,” he mumbled, feeling kind of like a scolded kid.

Billy stared at him in this intense way. He mouth curled up unkindly.  “Okay, what you gonna do then, huh? Bum it here forever? Work the ice cream biz and live under your old man’s thumb?”

Jesus. Steve’s face immediately heated up. He’d kind of thought they—well maybe they weren’t on the same page—but he'd kind of thought Billy wouldn’t just push him off to school. The way he was talking now, he sounded like he didn’t care what Steve did after he was gone. He swallowed around the forming lump in his throat.

“Was thinking San Francisco,” he whispered. Billy’s face flattened.

“No you ain’t,” he said.

“ _Wow,_ asshole—do you even know who my dad had to talk to just so I could graduate high school? College, that shit’s for people like Nance and—and you!”

Billy scoffed again.

“No, I’m being serious. I heard about your fuckin SAT scores. Nancy wouldn’t frickin’ shut up about them.”

“Jesus, great,” mumbled Billy.

“Maybe, you know, school isn’t for me. Plans change,” he said. He didn’t exactly tell Billy how much his plans had changed. The burn of embarrassment was now heating up his whole body, making it hard to get the right words out. He was so stupid.

Billy examined him with this real intense stare again. “Let me go to Indianapolis with you,” he said finally, and when Steve opened his mouth to argue he added quickly, “C’mon. I need a distraction. I’ll stop your pops raggin’ on you, maybe we’ll eat somewhere that doesn’t microwave their food. Let’s just—can we go?”

Steve bit at his lip.

“I want to go,” said Billy.

Slowly, he nodded, and the tension mounting between them ebbed away. “Can I touch you now?” he asked, even though he hadn’t meant to. It felt like years had passed since he’d last touched Billy.

Billy reached out for his hand. Steve immediately pushed up against his side, shoulder pressed to shoulder. Billy felt so warm against him; it kind of surprised him. Maybe some part of Steve expected him to feel cold, zapped of warmth after today.

Steve pressed his nose against Billy’s neck, breathing in the scent of musk and smoke and leather. “Probably smell like shit,” Billy murmured into his hair. His lips brushed against the crown of his head. “Didn’t exactly get to shower after work.”

“You can take one here if you want.”

“And use your fancy rich boy shampoo?”

Steve’s eyes burned unexpectedly. He wondered if Billy would write to him when he was gone. “Yeah, if you want.”

 

+++

 

The Harringtons lived like kings compared to the shit he was used to; well, they had real marble in their bathroom instead of linoleum countertops. Billy stood in the shower for a long, long time. He kept telling himself he’d get out when the water ran cold, but it never did. He didn’t want to harp on it too much, but his throat fucking burned. This real deep ache he felt every time he breathed. He’d spent like fifteen minutes sniffing around for some kind of painkillers. Didn’t find any, but he did find two hidden cans of Farrah Fawcett hairspray, which delighted him to no end. He already had like fifty jokes worked out tell Harrington.

Maybe he could root around in the kitchen later after Harrington went to sleep. He didn’t want to ask Steve and get him talking about ‘seeing’ someone again. Him and Max. Shit. Billy finally cut the shower. The steam around him smelled like Harrington’s hair. The same scent clung to all his clothes, and Billy spent an embarrassingly long amount of time pressing his fuckin’ T-shirts to his face. He felt guilty doing it too, looking over his shoulder at any creak in the house.

He finally landed on one of Harrington’s worn out Hawkins High basketball shirts. He had about three himself, but these were way smaller than his. He didn’t sniff Harrington’s boxers or nothin’, but he almost hawked a pair for later. Maybe he’d keep the pair he had on. Billy really liked the thought of that.

He forced himself to head back downstairs before he could go faggin’ around Harrington’s room touching all his things. Okay, he’d opened one drawer, but of course, Harrington didn’t keep anything _salacious_ in his room beside lube and a million dull-tipped number two pencils.

He was just about to leave when he caught sight of Harrington’s yearbook, rested against the leg of his bed. Billy plucked it up and flipped lazily through it. It was from his senior year. He found Harrington’s picture. The bruises from their fight were just starting to fade. He quickly flipped past that page and got caught on a block of writing scrawled across the next. It was in the margin next to Nancy Wheeler’s photo. His throat clenched up, burning. He immediately averted his eyes, but the draw of morbid curiosity nudged them back.

He read the first three lines. They were all crossed out.

~~_Nance, hope you’re doing well, look I’m sorry_ ~~

Or _I ~~’m so sorry how things happened with us~~_

Or ~~_Nance, I still love you, I just wanted you to know_~~

He snapped the book shut and put it back exactly where he found it.

The sound of Harrington snoring reached him at the top of the stairs. He bit back a smile even though he didn't feel like smiling. Harrington had his face smashed against a pillow, mouth open, and hand dangling off the couch. He really did smile now.  

Shit, he was gonna miss Harrington. He knew that. He’d known that for a while, this theoretical ache coming down the road. It loomed over him at night, when he couldn’t sleep, and now it loomed over him during the day.

He pulled a blanket off the back of an armchair and threw it over him. Steve barely moved, so Billy felt okay leaning down to smooth his hair off his face, to run a thumb over his eyebrow. He jumped away from him on instinct when the phone started ringing. His heart was up in his throat, pounding away like Neil was coming at him again.

Steve mumbled something, then burrowed deeper against his pillow. Billy plucked the phone from its cradle, thinking to hang it up immediately, until Max’s voice came through, saying, “Hello? Steve?”

“It’s me,” he said quickly. Then, quieter, after watching Harrington snuffle again, “Everything good? Neil come back?”

“No, nothing like that. Everything’s fine. Well…” Max made a considering noise. “Mom’s totally freaking out. She spent like five hours cleaning up all the crap Neil threw around.”

“Shit,” he said. “That fuckin’ sucks.”

“Tell me about it,” she sighed like she’d helped. Shit, maybe she had. Billy felt like an asshole thinking about her and Susan cleaning up Neil’s crazy mess. He should have helped them or something. “Anyways," she went on, "I just—I wanted to tell you I found that number. The one Neil was screaming about.”

Billy held his breath until it ached in his throat. He let it out slowly. “You heard that shit, huh?”

“Yeah,” she said. They lapsed into silence. Then she said, in a small voice, “It’s Steve’s right?” Of course, she’d know. She had the same number stuck to her mirror. He fuckin’ hoped Neil never found that one.

“One of ‘em, yeah,” he said. The other was Harrington’s girl.

“Right. Well, I’m going to—I’m just going to throw it away, okay?”

“Probably for the best,” he said, then added before he could chicken out, “Hey, do yours too. Never know how crazy my pops will be.” He looked over at Steve again. “And, uh, thanks.”

“Yeah. Hey,” said Max. And stopped.

“Yeah, hey what?”

“Hey...I’m glad you have Steve there with you. I’m glad he’s your—friend.”

His eyes started burning unexpectedly. Billy coughed a few times to dislodge the feeling and it shook up all the raw nerves in his throat. “Okay, alright, friend is a pretty fuckin’ strong word. I believe I said, and I quote, ‘He’s alright.’”

Max huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. He’s alright. Okay, well, I’ll see you when you...come back I guess.”

Billy didn’t even know when that would fuckin’ be. Whenever Neil didn’t want to kill him, he supposed. That seemed like the type of thing he had to play by ear. “Yeah, kid. See you then.”

He hung up, then lay next to Harrington on the couch. He was fuckin’ heavy, all that dead weight, but Billy managed to maneuver him over so he could slide in behind him. He pulled the blanket over both of them, nosing at Harrington’s sweet-smelling hair, thinking about a place like San Francisco, and waiting for dawn.

 

+++

 

He hadn’t realized it before, after the shock of seeing Billy’s throat, but at some point, Billy had gotten a haircut. For him. Steve wanted to run his fingers through it just to memorize this new texture, but footing between them still seemed uneven. Especially under the watery light of morning.

The second time Steve asked him if he still wanted to go, Billy snapped, “Keep fuckin’ asking me and we’ll never make it there anyways.”

They left the house at ten-thirty. It took a while to find his mom’s concealer and even longer to help Billy cover up his bruises. Nausea overturned his belly seeing the broken skin up close. It was a livid purple now, collared around his entire throat in the blurry shape of fingers. Billy took one look at his face and told him to make coffee. He could cover it up himself. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Those words rang inside his head. _Wouldn’t be the first time._

He made Billy extra coffee. He even let him drive the Bimmer. That seemed to level out his hardening expression, and about thirty minutes into the drive, he snuck his Wham! tape into the deck. Billy almost smiled.

It took them about an hour to reach Indianapolis. Despite the roaring current of AC, Steve was sweating into his cotton shirt. It was one of his nice button downs, the same one he’d worn to Dad’s office last year. A little lunch, Steve, so you can meet everyone.

Billy was wearing one of Steve’s shirts, a collared button down that rested under the lip of his bruises. They were barely noticeable with the concealer, but Steve could still see them. He definitely didn’t fit into any of Steve’s slacks, so he wore a pair of dark wash jeans. They didn’t even have holes in them.

Privately, Steve thought he looked amazing.

Billy must have felt him staring. He looked over and raised an eyebrow above his aviators. Steve blurted out, “Can I write to you at basic?” The sting of heat followed closely behind, warming up his face.

Billy’s eyebrow slowly dropped back down. He returned his attention to the rode, wringing his hands over the steering wheel. “Sure. If you ain’t too busy.”

Steve snorted. “Doubt I’ll be too busy doing anything.”

Silence spread like a slow-moving spill between them. Billy said, after a while, “You’ll find something, Stevie.”

He swallowed a couple times, thinking about a time in the future when he wouldn’t see Billy any more. He’d go back to the same old Steve who puttered around Hawkins behind a trail of kids. This Steve made small talk with his ex and dreaded seeing his parents, and he didn’t know Billy Hargrove anymore.

That was the worst part of it all. “Yeah. You know. You know I'm gonna, like, miss you right?” he said. The words floated out of him, barely entering his brain before moving past his lips.

Billy’s hand constricted the steering wheel. Steve watched his throat work around something to say. He felt the sting of rejection before he’d even been rejected. Maybe he was learning to recognize signs after all. “You’ll find something to do,” he repeated.

Steve didn’t know what that really meant and he was too afraid to ask. He blinked hard a few times to ease the sting in his eyes, then opened all the windows so he could dry out his sweat and mess up his hair.

  


Dad was waiting for them at the Blue Lounge, just a block away from his hotel. It was lunchtime. Past eleven-thirty.

He felt oddly relieved to exchange one anxiety source for another. At least he’d been dealing with Dad all his life. Beside him, Billy was an impenetrable figure, glasses obscuring his eyes, hands buried deep in his jean pockets. He walked a couple steps behind Steve—no one would guess they'd come up together.

Steve tried to flatten his fucked up hair the best he could but gave up when he noticed himself in the lounge’s glossy windows. He walked in first and Billy followed him, still a step behind.

Dad was sitting at the bar nursing a neat bourbon, which he raised when he saw Steve and lowered when he saw Billy. Steve saw his mouth twitch up, just once, into what might have been a smile.

“Steven, you look well,” said Dad. He nodded to Billy and held out his hand before Steve’s manners could kick into gear—five seconds in and Dad was already embarrassing him. “Paul Harrington,” he said.

“Billy Hargrove,” he said, taking Dad’s hand. The shake was brief and perfunctory. “Nice to meet you, sir,” he added. Dad raised an eyebrow, mirroring the expression Steve could feel himself making.

He slid off his stool and gestured for a waiter to follow them.

“Let’s grab a table shall we? Danny should be here within the hour.” Dad led the way to a corner booth, table dark wood and the seat a rich mahogany leather.

Steve felt himself relax marginally when Billy slid in beside him. He wasn’t close enough to touch, but he could feel that well of warmth Billy emanated at all times. “You boys want something harder than soda?” said Dad. Their waiter had his pen at the ready.  

“Beer,” said Steve. “Your pick,” he added to the waiter.

“Billy?” Dad swished his bourbon around, pinning Billy with a curious look over the crystal lip. “Here, try some of this son—it’ll put hair on your chest.”

“Dad—”

But Billy was already reaching out for the drink, taking a small, considering sip. His expression remained completely placid. He nudged the glass carefully back to Dad. “I think I’ll stick to beer,” he said. Then to the waiter: “Whatever he’s having.”

Dad huffed a sound of amusement. Sustained silence stretched thin between them, only interrupted at the arrival of their drinks. Steve pulled at his collar, airing out his neck.

Inspecting his drink like it disappointed him, Dad said, “You liking the city so far Billy?”

Steve managed to intercept this question. “We just got here.”

“Steven tells me you’ve enlisted. Might not get to see a proper city for a while,” said Dad, easily speaking over him. “You’ll have to do something after this.”

Billy accepted the question as easily as he’d accepted the bourbon. “That’s right, sir. We plan on it.”

“You know, the military’s good for straightening a boy out. A little discipline goes a long way.”

Steve choked on his water. Over his coughs, he heard Billy say, “You’re starting to sound like my old man. He’d agree with you, I reckon.”

Billy had his chin rested atop his fist, not a wrinkle of irritation on his face like he’d coiled it all away beneath his skin. Dad’s eyebrow twitched again in amusement.

“Neil Hargrove right?” he said. “Your old man?”

Billy picked up his beer and took a small sip. “The one and only,” he said.

“Good guy. Met him once or twice.”

Steve hadn’t even opened his beer yet. He plucked at the tab, wondering if he should step in, divert Dad’s attention somehow—

“Sure is,” said Billy brightly. His smile cut across his face, sitting uncomfortably. “Hey, I’m gonna grab a smoke if anyone wants to join me. Be right back.” Billy clapped Steve on the back in a buddy buddy way and slid out of the booth. Dad watched him leave with a level expression.

“Where’d you pick up Neil Hargrove’s boy, Steven?” said Dad, leaning back into the creaking leather of his seat. His fingers were laced together, just the way he held himself at the country club during family brunch.

Steve kept plucking at his beer tab. He wanted to follow after Billy. Clearing his throat, he said, “His step-sister is friends with the kids.”

“Ah, yes, your _kids_.”  Dad leaned into the silence between them. Steve was fidgeting. He knew Dad hated when he did that, but he couldn’t stop. His brain was occupied by the thought of Billy outside, leaving his anxious body to its own devices.

“You didn’t mention you were bringing Billy Hargrove with you,” said Dad at last.

“It didn’t seem important.”

“Boy has a hell of a reputation. I wonder if this will make the right impression,” he said. Their waiter drifted by and Dad took Steve’s quiet moment of horror to order another neat bourbon.

“Well, we’ll just have to see,” he snapped, finally opening his beer.

 

+++

 

He didn’t stay outside for more than ten minutes, but that was enough to clear his head. Billy felt like he was crawling out of his skin. His throat burned on every puff of the cigarette, but he kind of liked feeling the pain. It was a distraction.

He wondered what Neil might've said to Harrington’s old man. What he knew about him already, since he seemed to know a lot. He fuckin’ wished he hadn’t told Harrington to come up here. They could be laying in his big bed right now, kissing nice, forgetting a Hawkins Indiana existed just out the window.

Billy stubbed his cigarette out, reached up to his nape to air out his hair, and paused at the feeling of nothing. He shouldered back inside, ignoring his reflection in the dark glass.

Steve was frowning into his sweating beer when he slid back into the booth. Harrington’s pops looked at him with something like disappointment. He’d seen it in Neil’s eyes enough, just under that oily film of resentment.

“Nasty habit, smoking,” said Steve’s Dad, pointing his words at Steve. Harrington’s shoulders inched up to his ears. Billy didn’t think he’d ever seen Steve hold himself like that. Cowering. The word drifted through him.

“Picked it up young, unfortunately,” said Billy, keeping his attention on Steve.

“There are patches nowadays you know. You ever hear about those patches? They go on your arm like this,” and Billy watched Steve’s dad slap his forearm. “Kicks the cravings, just like that.”

“Just like that,” muttered Steve. He took a long slurp of beer. It was a risk, but Billy moved his boot side-by-side with Steve’s. He didn’t know what all Harrington’s pops said to him when he was gone, but he got the feeling it had something to do with that look on his face. After a second, Steve pushed his shoe against Billy’s.

Harrington’s old man suddenly broke his attention from them. He put his hand up, waving someone over. Billy turned around to watch a man in a dark suit and slacks pushing through the crowd to their table. “Hey there Danny! Perfect timing,” said Harrington’s dad. Billy kind of thought he was right.

 _Danny_ was balding and red in the face like he'd drank one too many beers for one too many years. His gut extended the front of his sacks, cinched with a glossy belt that cut into his skin. Harrington’s old man slid over to make room for him.

“You’ve met Steven,” said Steve’s dad, waving his drink like a royal sceptre over to Steve. Billy watched Harrington’s face smooth over from anxious to inviting, his hand extending across the table. Harrington smiled at Danny when he took up his palm, and they shook warmly like they’d known each other all their life. Billy hadn’t seen that look on Harrington’s face in a long time.

“As a toddler, I’m told,” said Steve.

Danny boomed out a great laugh. “You’re a bit more handsome now.”

“He takes after his mother,” said his dad.

“Well, thank god for that.”

Another round of booming laughter, Harrington adding weakly to it. He moved his shoe away from Billy, just as his warm hand clapped over Billy’s shoulder, making him jump a little at the unexpected contact. “Danny, this is my—friend Billy Hargrove. He wanted to take this opportunity to see the city.”

Billy forced himself to smile when Steve said friend. He took up Danny’s hand too, and it was warm and hot clasped around his.

Their waiter dropped off their lunch menus, and Harrington’s old man and Danny started reminiscing about their grand old time at Northwestern in between grilling the poor guy about soup specials. Steve’s laugh was manufactured but deployed at the right moment every time. He never looked less than engaged, throwing dimples at Danny’s jokes, lowering his eyes to his old man. Billy wondered how many years of conditioning it took to play a part so perfectly.

Maybe all nineteen.

They put in their orders, finally relieving their waiter of laughing at Paul Harrington’s jokes. Billy was still nursing the same beer from when they’d first got there. Truly, he wished he'd taken Harrington's dad up on the whisky, but he didn’t want to feel too loose in the head.

“So, Steven, last I talked to your pops, I heard all about this nice young lady you’ve been going around with—Nancy was it?”

“Nancy Wheeler,” confirmed Harrington’s old man. “Great girl. Made Steven one lucky bastard.”

"She interested in Northwestern too?”

Billy clutched at his beer, giving all his attention to one spot on the back of the can. Harrington picked at his tab. _Click, click, click_. “She’s uh—think she has other plans,” mumbled Steve. He slid further down in his seat, assured mask flickering. 

“Y’know, your dad here met your mom at Northwestern,” said Danny.

Billy cut a look to Steve, who wasn’t looking at anyone. “Yeah, and that worked out really well,” he snapped. The hair on his arms prickled up. Maybe that was a holdover from living with Neil all his life, some kind of biological indicator that he’d stepped in shit.

The table took a collective pause. Danny peered at Harrington’s old man, who looked like he’d be having more than a word with Steve if they weren’t with company. Billy wondered if Harrington’s old man had ever knocked him around.

Clearing his throat, Danny said, “What about you Billy? What’re your plans after school?”

Billy forced himself to meet Danny’s eyes. He wasn’t as good as Harrington, but he figured if he could handle Neil, he could handle just about anyone. “I’ve actually enlisted. Leave for Fort Benning in a week,” said Billy, lowering his eyes just a fraction. That shit always worked on Neil. 

Danny held his drink aloft like a toast. “Oh, excellent! A noble calling, joining the military. You know, I had a cousin—he was a marine, sometime from ‘79 to ‘81. Loved it. Shame what happened with him, really,” he said, taking a drink.

The hair on his arm prickled further. Forcing himself to smile, he asked, “What happened?”

Danny’s eyebrows flew up to his forehead, wrinkling the thin, reddened skin of his hairline. He let out a gusting sigh. “Found out he was a queer. I don’t know the specifics. Never really got a chance to ask. They discharged him—broke up that whole family. Wife, kids, everyone, they left.”

Billy’s throat burned on his next sip. He nearly coughed out his drink. Steve knocked his shoe with Billy’s and he ripped it away just in case Harrington’s old man had senses like Neil.

“Never understood that rule,” said Harrington’s dad. Next to him, Steve was still as stone. “That whole don’t ask, don’t tell business. Faggots don’t belong in the military. Not even one. Imagine—imagine being on the front line and all you have is a pansy covering your ass.”

“Probably too busy looking at it!” barked Danny. They erupted into laughter and it rang around his head, mingling with the _click, click, click_ of Steve's tab. 

His old man kept going. “I don’t know how you expect your average citizen to feel safe knowin’ some pansy is all that stands between them and the Russians. I mean, how could you?”

“I feel safe knowing _anyone_ stands between me and the Russians,” said Steve quietly.

Billy scratched at his hair, feeling the short strands comb over his numb fingers. Steve said something else to his old man. He didn’t hear exactly what it was. _Click click click_ , he heard. Before he knew it, he was standing, walking toward the doors for a smoke. Or shit, something. Anything.

 

+++

 

Steve pushed past the double doors of the restaurant, tripping over himself to catch up with Billy. He didn’t see him when he emerged onto the sidewalk; then he did, a disappearing point becoming even smaller as he walked away. Steve ran after him. His shoes made slapping noises on the concrete. Billy didn’t even turn around.

“Billy!” he panted, reaching for his shoulder. Billy shrugged him off. “Hey wait. _Please_.”

He stopped walking. The line of his shoulders was straight, all squared off like he was preparing for a fight. “Where are you goin’ man? What’s—are you leaving?” said Steve.

Billy kept smoking his cigarette. The night breeze carried the scent of smoke back at him. “Just needed a little air, Harrington. That’s all,” he said.

Steve kept staring at his back. “Would you just turn around for a second?”

Billy ashed. “You should probably head back. Think your old man had a little more to say.”

“Yeah—okay, I get it. He’s a fucking dick. I told you that. Would you just turn around?”  

Billy scuffed his boot over his dead cigarette and finally turned around. “Go back, Harrington. I just need a minute, okay _?_ ”

"Look I’m sorry—about all that shit he said,” said Steve carefully.

Billy shrugged up a shoulder. His face changed in the waning light. Golden and black, manipulating his expression. “Not like I haven’t heard worse,” he said. He scratched at his hair again. Steve wished he could touch him. He fuckin wished they hadn’t even come up here.

“Do you want to leave?” he offered. “I can bring you home. Just—tell me if you want to leave.”

Billy wouldn’t look at him. He shook another cigarette out of the carton and lit it. “I just need a minute. Can you just—can you give me one fuckin’ minute?”

Steve opened his mouth to say _no, I’m not going anywhere_ , then closed it. Billy finally looked at him. “Go back inside, Steve.”

Steve felt himself nodding. He walked back inside and sat down and listened to Dad and Danny talking about the recent Mets game. Maybe they’d gotten tired of complaining about the _faggots_. He couldn’t shake that image of Billy’s face from his mind when Dad was saying his crap. 

He observed the slight glimmer of sweat on Danny’s upper lip. The shine of bourbon on Dad’s, every time he took a sip. He dabbed at his own mouth with the napkin on the table and heard himself say, “Danny, it was really nice seeing you again but I’m not feeling too hot. Think we have to head out. We’ll have to do this again.”

Dad paused in the middle of taking a drink. Steve couldn’t look at him or he’d chicken out, so he slid out the booth, walking away before he could say anything to stop him.

  


Billy wasn’t talking to him. He was sitting beside him, glaring at the rolling fields whirring by his window, ignoring everything Steve said to him. And he’d said a lot. They were chasing the sun back to Hawkins, and the sky above them was the color of blood, getting darker and darker by the minute.

“You ever gonna talk to me again?” said Steve, when they were about halfway back.

Billy still didn’t say anything. Steve stole a glance at him. The sun chased away the shadows in his face with its blood-red glow. It flattened his expression even more. Looking at him, Steve started to feel angry. “No? Never? Wow, that’s—that’s really great,” he snapped.

“Told you I didn’t want to leave,” said Billy quietly. He was an immovable force against the car door, about as far away from Steve as possible.

“Yeah? Well, maybe I did!”

“Obviously,” he muttered.

Steve had a flashback to about a week ago when they’d almost had a fight on the same road. He wondered if they really would crash this time. “I didn’t even want to fuckin’ go up there,” he said.

Billy scoffed. “Yeah, I heard you loud and clear Harrington.”

“Why’re you—why are you so mad about this? My dad was being a total asshole to you,” said Steve.

Billy thumbed at his nose. He pulled himself away from the window with a long sigh, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “You applying to this school?” 

“What?”

“Northwestern or whatever. You applying there?”

“I mean—I dunno, maybe,” said Steve carefully.

“Okay, well, this guy. He was gonna help you right?”

Steve felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin. Like he was on one wavelength and Billy was on another, words passing through the wrong receiver. He jerked the car over to the side of the road. “It’s like you’re not even hearing me. I don’t care about him. I don’t—I don’t care about school, okay?”

“Yeah, well maybe you should fuckin’ care,” said Billy, rounding on him with a curled lip and bared teeth. “What the fuck else are you gonna do, man? Move to San Francisco?”

“ _Maybe_!” he yelled.

Billy laughed, loud and horrible. He laughed until he was coughing, clutching at his throat. “What’d you tell your old man again? Said we was friends?”

Steve’s eyes started to burn. His vision went fuzzy at the edges. “Yeah. So what? You—we _are_ friends,” he said.

“Friends,” breathed Billy. He had a horrible look on his face, his mouth twisted up into a snarl. “Jesus Christ. You can’t possibly be this stupid, Harrington. Have you even thought about this for one fucking second? 'Bout the part that comes next. Oh, you look confused—let me enlighten you, pretty boy.” Billy paused to rub a hand into his eye, hard, and when he looked at Steve again his eyes were bright.

“Here’s the part that comes next. You suck up to this pal of your old man’s and he gets you into school. Then you meet some girl—just like your pops right?—and when you come back up here, Harrington, a year, two years from now, you don’t gotta tell your old man any kinda story about bein’ friends. You just tell ‘im the girl’s name!”  

A deep ache settled inside the back of his skull, crawling into his eyes, pricking them with tears. He scrubbed at them with a fist. His chest felt so tight. He clutched a hand in his shirt just to have something to hold onto. “Yeah, okay, what’s your next part?” croaked Steve. “Where do you go?”

Billy’s grin showed all his teeth. “I get shipped off somewhere and nobody thinks about it twice.”

“God you’re so full of shit,” said Steve. “Like you—what, you think I can just go back? I can go back to before? Stupid, dumb Steve—oh, he doesn’t know what he wants.” He took a horrible, hiccuping inhale. “You fucking piece of shit. I _know_ now. I know what—it can be like.”

Billy froze and his throat worked. “I was always leaving Stevie,” he sighed finally. He scrubbed at his eyes again, inhaling sharply. “This way’s better.”

His whole body started tingling. He kind of felt like he was going to puke. “So what, you’re—are you fucking breaking up with me?”

“We were never dating, Harrington.”

“Bull _shit_ ,” he said. The word ripped out of his throat.

Billy shrugged. “You said it, man. I’m a piece of shit.”

Steve laughed, hysterical. “No, you’re so much fucking worse. You’re a coward.”

Billy’s eyes flared. He grabbed Steve by the collar and hauled him half-way over the console. “I’m the fucking coward? Why don’t you crawl back to Daddy and tell him you’ve been dropping to your knees for me like a proper faggot? Yeah, Daddy will love that, hearing about his perfect son begging for Billy Hargrove’s cock.”

Steve twisted his hands up in Billy’s shirt too, even though he didn’t have any leverage. “That's the shit that gets you killed right? Number one rule of being a faggot?” he spat.

"Now he's finally learning! Jesus Christ. Don't you get it, Harrington? Tell me you get it." And Billy sounded like he was pleading. His eyes were so bright, backlit by the setting sun. 

“You want me to tell him about us? I’ll fucking do it," said Steve, voice cracking.  

Billy’s mouth thinned into a severe line. His eyes darted over Steve’s face. He shoved him away and Steve fell against the side of his door. “There is no fucking us. There never was.”

“You don’t believe that,” whispered Steve still slumped against the door. He felt like he couldn't move even though Billy hadn't thrown him too hard. 

“Oh, Stevie,” laughed Billy. His voice was a whip crack, rattling around in Steve’s head. “What—did you think, did you think we were in fuckin’ love? Maybe we’d move away together, live like proper faggots.”

Billy’s face crumpled, for just a moment, before it crystallized back into this hard, horrible thing. “You were just a fuckin’ warm mouth. And I’ve had better.”

He shoved his door open and stumbled out of it. “Forget about me, Harrington. It’ll be better for you.” Billy walked away without another look backwards. Steve curled into himself, feeling too numb to follow.

 


	10. 10.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing good ever happens at a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI. Oh my god, I feel like I limped across the finish line with this chapter. It's my longest one yet. The next, and final, chapter will be a soft-epilogue. I want to thank everyone for their lovely lovely lovely comments. Writing this story has been one of the most rewarding and amazing things because of your feedback. Thank you and I hope everyone likes where we've ended up. Enjoy! 
> 
> (also, obligatory disclaimer: There are mentions of het sex briefly in this chapter. I've updated the tags to reflect that, thanks!)

On Sunday, Mom came home, and the size of the Harrington household constricted around him. Dad wouldn’t stop calling. Incessant, on-the-hour. In a way, it was comforting. If he was calling, he wasn’t on his way home to end Steve’s life. When that happened, the walls would close their final inch, suffocating him. 

Steve hadn’t slept since coming back from Indianapolis, and his eyes felt gummy, locked open. It was nearly five in the evening of the next day. He heard the sound of Mom’s rolling suitcase bumping over the tiled kitchen floor. The sounds of cabinets opening and closing. A tinny microwave beep. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. He’d snuck into Mom’s room to nab some of her sleeping pills when he’d gotten back, but only found empty bottles. Maybe she’d wizened up to him hawking those.

A slow-rising waft of garlic filled his room the more Mom tinkered downstairs. His stomach reacted, gurgling. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning before heading up. Just a couple pieces of toast, eaten in his car.

Right now, the idea of eating food made him want to throw up. He turned over, pressing into the dip in his bed, and willed his eyes to close. They burned in his sockets, even when he thought of nothing.

Sometime later, Mom knocked softly at his door. He hadn’t exactly been sleeping, but the pull to consciousness was slow and groggy. Mom knocked again. “C’min,” he mumbled.

She opened and shut his door softly. He blinked her into focus and saw she was holding a plate with two sandwich halves on it, her red-lacquered nails standing out against the white porcelain. She was still even wearing her nice work slacks, the ones she probably flew home in. The bed dipped when she sat on it.

“Grilled cheese,” she said.

Steve had his cheek rested in the crook of his arm, and that put him at eye-level with the plate. His stomach rumbled again and saliva filled his mouth. He swallowed it away with a couple clicks of his throat. “Not hungry,” he said.

“I think you might find some room in you. I used the nice cheese. The one from the market.”

“You can just leave it on my desk,” said Steve.

Mom’s nails clinked against the side of the plate. Steve felt the weight of her consideration. It raised the hairs on his arms. “Your father called me yesterday,” she said.

“I bet he did.” Steve couldn’t keep the disdain from his voice. He wondered when she’d skip to the part about grounding him. He wished she’d just get there already so he could try and go back to sleep.

“He says he can’t get ahold of you,” she continued.

“Can’t imagine why. He’s only been calling every thirty minutes.”

“I’m not going to ask if you want to talk about it,” said Mom.

“Good. I don’t.”

More tapping on the side of the plate. From the corner of his eye, he saw her stand and pad over to his desk, sliding the plate onto it. She turned to face him again. Steve examined the poster of Elvis taped crookedly across the room. He’d been lying just like this the first night Billy had called him. Shit. He felt himself physically recoil at the passing memory. Even thinking his name hurt.

“If you won’t eat, will you drink?” said Mom.

Steve halfway raised his head. He blinked at her. “What?”

Her hands were posted on her hips which meant she was serious. “Come downstairs. I’ll pour us a glass of that good Christmas wine you like.” She nodded, like that was that, and marched out of his room.

  
  
  


Steve wrapped himself in his comforter and trudged down the stairs. His entire body ached like he’d been in a fight. Hurt worse actually. Mom made a humoring noise when she saw him shuffling into the living room all wrapped up. She held a liberally filled wineglass up for him and he took it. 

“What are we watching?” she said when he’d settled down next to her. He pulled the comforter tighter around himself. The  _ Casablanca _ case was still open on the coffee table from the other night. He wanted to throw it across the fucking room.

“Whatever you want,” he said.

Mom made her humming noise again. “ _ Dateline _ it is,” she said, flipping to the right channel. Steve took a small sip of wine. He wished he wasn’t too fuckin’ depressed or whatever to enjoy it. This was the  _ good _ wine, and he only got the  _ good _ wine at Christmas. Right now, it tasted bitter in his mouth. He set the glass on the table.

“Remember when you were little and we’d watch  _ All In the Family _ before bed?”

“Yep,” said Steve. Heat pricked at his eyes. Some part of him wished he could just lay down and let Mom card her fingers through his hair until he fell asleep like she used to do. Before she went back to work and he was alone all the time.

Mom took a long sip of wine. Her glass plinked delicately on the coffee table when she set it down. “I said I wouldn’t ask, and I’m not—really, I’m not,” she added at the look he shot her. “I just wanted to say...I know your father can be—difficult. He’s handled you roughly in the past.”

His lip started fucking trembling and he caught it between his teeth. That weight hanging behind his eyes felt a thousand times heavier. “Ma, can we not?”

“It comes from a good place. Hard to believe, I know. He wants you to succeed. He wants you to have more than he had.”

“Okay, well I don’t fucking want anything he has. What if I want nothing to do with any of it?”

He looked over at her, catching her solemn expression hunting over his face. She didn’t say anything, delicate hands rested in her lap, waiting.

Steve took a bracing glug of wine. “You know, he has, he has this plan for me and he never once fuckin’ asked me if I wanted any of it. I almost failed out of highschool—honest to god failed—and he what, he wants to ship me off to  _ more _ school?”

Mom kept looking at him in her solemn way. He tasted the bitter tang of blood, mingling with the wine on his tongue. He must have bit his lip or something. “I don’t want to fucking go to school, okay? I, I  _ can’t _ .” He looked at Mom through a waver of tears and felt too tired to be embarrassed about it.

Her delicate chin dipped down. “Okay, alright,” she said softly. Her mouth opened to say more.

The shrill pierce of the phone ringing made him jump. His hand shot out of the blanket to pick it up and slam it back into the receiver. “Jesus, is he ever gonna fuckin’ stop?” he said, taking up his wineglass and knocking back half of it with two large gulps.

“He comes home on Friday,” said Mom. “Enough time for the rubble to settle. I’d talk to him then.”

Friday. Steve nodded, looking at the phone sitting halfway off the receiver. Two days before Billy left for basic. “I’ll talk to him then,” he said.

  
  
  


Steve called out of work two days in a row. Ed, their manager, took the news surprisingly well given his only rule was showing up to a shift. The second day he called, Robin wrestled the phone away from Ed to say, “What’re your symptoms?” 

“Huh? What?” said Steve.

“You’re sick right? I’m bringing you some shit. Tell me what your symptoms are,” she demanded.

He blinked groggily at the Elvis poster. Steve was wearing the same shirt from yesterday, he hadn’t showered since Saturday morning—it was Tuesday now—and he could fairly assume he looked like absolute dog shit. “It’s just a cold,” he mumbled.

“Well, I’ll bring you soup,” she said.

“I don’t want soup. Don’t bring me soup.”

“Chicken or tomato?” said Robin.

“I always liked a good tomato soup,” said Ed in the background.

“Don’t bring me any frickin’ soup,” said Steve.

“Okay, tomato it is. I’ll see you in a couple of hours, Stevie. Sit tight.” Robin hung up on him. Steve kept the phone to his ear until the dial tone beeped through. He hung up and thought about how much energy it would take to sit up, brush his teeth, and change his clothes. It seemed like a lot.

 

+++

 

Robin handed off the shift to a little sophomore boy named Mike. He’d just started a couple weeks ago and barely knew his head from his ass, but she’d taught him to use the register earlier, so she felt confident the building wouldn’t burn down while she was gone.  

Harrington lived in this real ritzy house out in Loch Nora. She’d only been there once when Steve needed a ride home from work earlier last year, but she’d never been inside. On the way, she stopped by Bigley's to pick up a cup of microwavable soup, a few aspirin tabs, and a bottle of pop.

It was three when she pulled up to the Harrington’s house. Looked about as fancy as she remembered too, with a perfect lawn and perfect flowers—a fuckin’ windchime. Robin parked on the street and cut through the neat lawn to the front step. The doorbell sang through the house.

It took a minute for Steve to appear in front of her. He looked like total dogshit. His hair was greasy, hanging in front of his face, and the underarms of his white T-shirt were tinged brown with sweat. He looked so pale. She raised her loot at him and marched wordlessly inside.

He shut the door behind her, closing out the sunlight. Robin snorted at a picture of Steve wearing red cowboy boots at a rodeo. It was hanging next to a picture of a painted pheasant. Rich people were so weird.

She headed for where she hoped the kitchen was and Harrington trailed after her like a ghost. He sat at the table, observing her glumly while she flittered around. Robin popped the soup into the microwave and shook out a couple tablets of pain meds for him. She pushed them into his hands.

“Got you pop too,” she said, wrestling the Coke out of the bag.

Steve blinked down at the tablets in his palm. He popped them into his mouth and swallowed them dry. Closer now, she could see his eyes were swollen and red. A conversation of theirs drifted back to her. He’d mentioned going to Indianapolis this weekend with his boy—Billy Hargrove.

Suddenly a lot of things made sense. The microwave beeped and she got his soup out, poured it into a bowl, and set it down in front of him. He frowned down at it. “Told you not to bring me soup,” he grumbled.

She only pushed it closer to him. “You know I’m going to ask, so why don’t you just tell me what happened and we can skip past the boring parts.”

He started rubbing at an eyebrow, fingers of his other hand levering the spoon up and down. “Nothing happened,” he snapped. Robin felt immediate panic at seeing a glistening start at the corner of his eye. Hell, she hoped he didn’t cry. She didn’t handle crying boys too well.

“What happened Stevie?” she said again.

“Fuck—I don’t even know. It doesn’t really matter.”

He kept levering the spoon up and down by the bowl and the glistening in the corner of his eye spread, spiking his bottom lashes with moisture. Oh, hell. Robin put her hand carefully over his, trying not to be awkward about it. “Did he say something? Do something?” she said.

Steve huffed out a humorless laugh. “Wow, where can I start. Um, maybe the part where I’m—I’m fucking stupid. Or, fuck, maybe you’d like to hear that I’ve only been a warm mouth this whole time. Jesus Christ.” She watched him knock the spoon across the table with the back of his hand. “So. Yeah, it’s just, it’s done. It doesn’t matter.”

Steve buried his face in his hands, his shoulders high and stiff. Robin wondered if she should do something. Put her hand on him again maybe. She eyed the curling steam coming off the soup and carefully reached for the spoon. She brought a spoonful up to his mouth.

“Open up, Stevie,” she said.

He groaned into his hands and slid them down his cheeks, red eyes peering at her over his fingertips. “Robin. C’mon,” he said.

Robin blew on it for him in case it was too hot. “It’s Bigley’s secret family recipe. Microwaved by yours truly. It’ll make you feel better. Now open your damn mouth.”

He rolled his eyes and took the spoon from her, slurping at it. He made a humming noise, and pulled the bowl closer, taking a few large spoonfuls from that. Robin rested her chin in her hand, watching him. “Do you love him?”

Steve paused, spoon rested against his lip. “He’s the biggest asshole I know,” he said.

“I know the type. Do you love him, though?”

“It doesn’t fucking matter. He made it pretty clear he doesn’t care about what I feel.”

Robin hummed. “He’s leaving soon right?”

Steve took another big slurping spoonful and nodded. He kept the spoon there in his mouth, sucking it like a lolly. “This Sunday.” His eyes went bright again. “Yeah. Sunday,” he said, quieter.

“Well...if he’s leaving anyway, what’s the harm in letting him know?”

“Letting him know what? Nothing I say will change anything,” he spat. Two splotches of red appeared high in his cheeks. She felt marginally relieved to see some anger on his face—now  _ that _ she could deal with. Robin was no stranger to feeling angry.

“Let him know everything. Hell, tell him he’s the biggest asshole you know. Maybe it won’t change anything, but at least you can say your part.”

“Pretty sure he already knows he’s a piece of shit,” said Steve.

Robin smiled at him thinly. She plucked the spoon from his hands and took a delicate sip from it. Didn’t taste too bad, for microwavable soup. “Then tell him again,” she said. After all, that’s what she’d do.

 

+++

 

It took Billy something like five hours to get back to Hawkins from Indianapolis. Well, seven, if he counted the couple hours he spent inside a dive bar doing shots until his face went numb, but he wasn’t really counting those. From there, it’d taken a while to walk back to the freeway, and then a couple more hours to find someone willing to give him a ride back to Hawkins. 

Ronda told him she was headed to Florida from Lake Superior. Said it wouldn’t be any problem to make a small detour. The inside of her truck smelled like incense and cigars, every seat covered in bead overlays. He liked her. She even gave him money for the pay phone. They were parked across the street from a post office on the outskirts of Hawkins proper.

“Thanks for the ride, Miss,” he said, climbing out of the truck. “I think I can take it from here.”

“Haven’t I heard a boy too many tell me that. Keep yourself safe, kid.” She said this around the fat stump of a cigar, which she’d started smoking about halfway back to Hawkins. He gave her a two-fingered salute and crammed himself into the payphone booth.

His hand stalled around the weight of quarters in his pocket. His first thought was to call Harrington. Fucking fuck. He needed to be smart about this, which was hard because he was still kind of drunk. He sifted through all the numbers he knew by heart. It wasn’t many. He slotted a couple quarters into the machine and got halfway through plugging in the home phone before hanging up. He started over.

The phone rang about six times. On ring seven, he heard, “Ted Bueller speaking.”

Billy pinched at the bridge of his nose. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Ted. It’s Billy. Uh, I need to talk to you for a sec.”

  
  
  


He wasn’t expecting anything beyond a ride to his car out in Loch Nora, but Ted took one look at his neck and nearly hauled him to the police station instead. He wouldn’t drop it until Billy promised to stay with them. At least until “things at home sorted out”. 

So Billy crashed with the Bueller’s, feeling like a total sad sack.

Mary set him up in their guest bedroom. He had a full-sized bed all to himself with a down comforter, and fucking hell, the bed even had a bedframe. He’d been sleeping on a box spring this entire time, even back in California. The air smelled fresh, like lilacs or some shit, and Mary cooked enough food to size him up a weight class. He felt fuckin’ awkward about eating their shit, but she always made him up a plate, leaving it on the desk in his room. Any time he tried to give Ted money for helping him out, he told Billy to put it on his tab.

But Ted had a lot of things that needed fixing up in the house—he was always yapping about his side projects—so Billy helped him gut the rot on his back porch on Sunday, fix up his workspace on Monday, and by Tuesday mid-day, he’d already edged the Bueller’s lawn and put down fertilizer, even though Ted didn’t ask him to.

He felt like he’d crawl out of his fuckin’ skin if he stayed inside too long. Going to bed was the worst part the day. At his house, someone was always making some kind of racket. If it wasn’t Neil’s baseball game, it was Max watchin’ MTV. If it wasn’t that, it was Susan and Neil going at it. Mary and Ted watched one episode of  _ Dateline _ after dinner and had the lights off by nine.

At night, Billy spent a lot of time blinking at the ceiling, forcibly directing his thoughts to all the shit he needed to do the next day, all the things he still needed to get for basic. He wanted to see Max, but he didn’t know how to get a hold of her without calling the house and he definitely didn’t want to fuckin’ do that.

On Wednesday, he decided to drive by the arcade, see if he could glimpse her inside. He passed by, saw a familiar burgundy BMW parked right out front and peeled off in the opposite direction. He gunned it down Boulevard, taking a hard right that clipped over the curb, and skidded into the parking lot of the Fair Mart. His fuckin’ hands were shaking. It was so stupid. He took a moment to swallow down all the spit in his mouth, to smoke through a cigarette, and then another.

He wanted a fuckin’ drink. Billy pushed out of the car and swiped a 40 from the shelf—his favorite teller was working. She rang him up without one look at his ID. He paid and popped the cap with his teeth, taking his first sip before even reaching his car.

There, he found Tommy, leaning against the Camaro like he owned it, arms folded over his chest. He waggled his brows at Billy. “Hey man, saw your car and stopped by.”

Billy nodded at him. He took another drink, pushing past the burn of carbonation. “What’s up?” He stood next to Tommy, mirroring him with his arms crossed over his chest.

“This is actually good timing,” said Tommy. “There’s this party happening on Friday, supposed to be the last one of the summer. You in?”

He pulled another sip from the 40. It’d been a while since he’d really cut loose. Got loaded. “You still have that connection out in Lawrenceville? The one you get the coke from?”

Tommy nodded, big mouth pulling across his face. He patted Billy on the shoulder. “There’s my guy. Yeah, I’ll give him a call. We can meet up at Carol’s before we go. Her mom’ll be gone.”

He nodded. The 40 was slowly working its way into his system. It was a start. “Sounds good,” he said.

  
  
  


Billy sat in his car until the 40 was dead. The bottle smashed against the asphalt when he threw it out the window. He wasn’t drunk, but his head felt looser. He could think about the BMW without feeling too bad. Usually thinking about Harrington was an exercise in self-inflicted pain. 

Sometimes, if his pops hit him too hard, Billy had a difficult time remembering the exact moment leading up to the hit. He remembered the shit before, the bruises after, but the moment of impact was a blank hole. Thinking about Harrington, about all the shit he said to him, was kind of like that.

He examined like some kind of third party hearing about the misfortune of someone else. Anytime a more detailed memory slipped through, he felt like someone suckered him in the gut. It was too fuckin’ weird how he almost felt the hurt in his body, like Harrington had bowled him over. Sometimes he couldn’t even breathe, his chest hurt so fucking much.

He blinked down at himself. At some point he’d turned the Camaro back on. He slowly backed out of the Fair Mart parking lot and headed in the direction of Cherry. Just for a drive.

The streetlights had flickered on by the time he turned onto his old street. The sky was purple, cut through with veins of fading pink. At the end of their driveway, he saw Susan’s wrangler. No one was parked behind her. 

He pulled the car over to the curb and cut the engine, just looking up at their little house bathed in a cone of light. Before he could chicken out, Billy pulled himself out of the car, up the front steps and to the door. He knocked, then rang the doorbell. He had a key but he didn’t know if he should use it.

The door swung open and Billy blinked down at Susan. She paused in the middle of drying her hands off with a dishtowel. Her eyes immediately welled up with tears and he lamented his decision to come back here.

“Oh god Billy your neck,” she said. The concealer must have rubbed off; Mary had given him some of hers. He touched it self-consciously. He kinda thought it had been looking better. “How are you?” she went on, looking like she was gonna hug him or something. “No, ignore that, of course you’re not okay but—you have a place to stay? Do you need anything?”

Billy felt immediately overwhelmed. He looked back at his Camaro wistfully. “Yeah, I’m okay Sue,” he said slowly. “Just stopped by to grab some things. And uh—is Max here?”

Just as he said it, he heard her hollering through the house. “IS THAT BILLY?” Her footsteps pounded on the wood floor, echoing all the way to the front stoop. Just hearing her voice made him feel all stupid and emotional. Jesus Christ.

Max knocked Susan over with her hip—“Excuse you!”—and stopped just short of knocking him over too. She wavered in front of him, looking suddenly uncertain. Then she grabbed his hand and tugged him into the house, down their little hallway, to his room.

She waved to his room like a little Vanna White. “Look! No garbage. No mass destruction. Good as new!”

He stepped inside, feeling kind of like an intruder. He guessed he hadn’t really been thinking about this as his home. Not in a while. It didn’t even look like his room anymore. Everything was perfectly organized, his bed was made, and there weren’t any band posters up—Neil had ruined those too.

He sat carefully on the corner of his bed, looking around. He still felt kind of overwhelmed. After a moment Max joined him. She took his hand again, like he was a little kid.

“Looks nice,” he said. “My old man give you and Sue shit since I’ve been gone?”

Max snorted. “All he does is fight with Mom. He didn’t even come home last night and Mom was saying she’d talk to this lawyer her cousin is married to.”

He hoped Susan left his old man, but he wasn’t holding his breath. He hated thinking about leaving Max here with him. “Hey, Neil ever starts ragging on you, you give me a call, okay?”

Max huffed out a laugh.

“I’m serious man,” he said, looking at her until she looked at him. She rolled her eyes but squeezed his hand.

“So, are you still staying with Steve?” said Max, shifting to face him with her legs crossed. Billy felt momentarily winded hearing his name out loud. He had to take a moment to get himself together or whatever.

“No,” he said. Billy got up, looking around for all the shit he bought for basic. He didn’t imagine he’d be coming back here before he left.

He felt Max watching him as he moved around his room. He distracted himself by pulling down a duffle bag down, shoving handfuls of clothes into it.

“Was it—what happened?” said Max carefully.

His breath caught. He heard the whisper of Steve telling him he was a piece of shit. Harrington was right about him. He’d always known Steve would wisen up eventually.

“Nothing,” he said, looking back at her. Maybe his face looked some kind of way, because she got this big frown on her face. Max got off the bed and sat next to him on the floor. She took his clothes out of the bag and started folding them so they’d fit better. Billy rested his forehead against the frame of his closet, watching her hands methodically folding his clothes.

Without looking up, Max said, “You should talk to him.”

“And why would I do that?” he said.

“Because he’s your friend. And you don’t have many.” She placed the final piece of clothing into his duffel bag and stood on creaky knees. “Come to the living room when you’re done. We’re watching  _ Murder, She Wrote. _ ”

 

+++

 

Like Mom promised, Dad came home on Friday afternoon. Steve stayed holed up in his room, tensed for the moment he barged in. That never happened. When he asked about him, Mom said he was napping and at six they were going to the country club for dinner. She looked meaningfully at his wrinkled shirt and told him to wash up. 

Six rolled around and he’d somehow managed to clean himself up a bit. Mom was wearing a pair of kitten heels. They clacked across the floor as she turned all the lights off. Dad only said, “Steven,” when he climbed into the backseat of the Mercedes. The cabin of the car was stifling and quiet. Mom put in one of her Janis Joplin tapes but no one spoke the entire ride to the club.

Steve fiddled with his tie the entire wait for their appetizers. He was wearing a fucking tie because he’d decided to tell Dad he wasn’t going to school by the end of the night. Right now, it felt like a fucking noose around his neck. He almost went to the bathroom to rip it off.

“Still feeling under the weather Steven?” said Dad. “You look a little bright-eyed.”

His hand flew away from his tie. Mom raised a perfect eyebrow at him. He took a long sip of water, drops dribbling out the side of his mouth and down his chin, and wiped it away with his hand.

“I’m feeling better, thanks,” he said.

Dad was leaned back in his seat, fingers turning his wine stem. “Glad to hear it. Maybe you’ll feel up to calling Danny this weekend. He’d like to reschedule.”

Steve caught himself in the middle of nodding. He looked at Mom then back to Dad. He imagined telling him he wasn’t ever going to call Danny back. In fact, he’d never step foot in school again. And—he was in love with Billy Hargrove. How about that?

He couldn’t get anything out for a couple moments. Coughing around his aching throat, he said, “Okay. Will do.”

Their food came and Steve pushed around his mashed potatoes until they solidified into a gluey mass. Dad was on his second glass of wine and Mom was on her third.

Wiping his mouth with his handkerchief, Dad said, “I met one of Steven’s friends this weekend. Neil’s boy.”

Mom raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I didn’t know you two were friends,” she said to Steve.

He cut his mashed potatoes in half, segregating the halves from each other. “Well. We are.” They  _ were _ . Fucking hell, now was not the time to feel like a sad girl over Billy freaking Hargrove.

“He’s quite the character. I still can’t for the life of me figure out how you ended up taking him under your wing, Steven,” said Dad, chuckling a little.

“Steve’s always picked up strays,” said Mom like he wasn’t even here.

He pulled at his tie again. “He’s not a stray, Jesus. It just happened. It’s not a big deal,” he mumbled.

Dad peered at him over the rim of his glass, eyes narrowing. “Yes, well. You’ll find more appropriate friends at school I’m sure.”

Mom paused in the middle of cutting her quail. A collective pause descended over the table. Steve carefully set his fork aside on his napkin and wiped at his mouth. He made himself keep eye contact with Dad. “No I won’t,” he said softly.

Dad set his fork and knife aside too. His mouth twitched like he was restraining a smile. “What do you mean you won’t? Of course you will. That’s exactly what you do at school.”

Steve was already shaking his head. He felt kind of like he was watching himself from far away. “I’m not going to school,” he heard himself say. “So, no. I won’t be making more appropriate friends there.”

He skirted a look to Mom. She pushed her wine glass away and examined Dad with a flat expression. His face was perfectly blank as he blinked at Steve. Then he hiccuped out a breathless laugh.

“Don’t be ridiculous Steven. Of course you’re going to school.”

“I’m really not.”

Mom sighed, throwing her napkin down, and Dad looked at her. “You don’t seem very surprised,” said Dad.

“I told her already,” said Steve.

Dad’s face slowly filled with color, purpling like he was holding his breath. He looked between Steve and Mom, his mouth hanging open. Finally, he pinned Steve with a severe look. “Okay, I’ll humor you. So you’re not going to school. What  _ are _ you doing?”

The rush of even getting this far was dizzying. He repeated the question again and again in his mind, trying to push away that flustered feeling. Sometimes this happened when he talked to Dad. Most of the time it happened. “I don’t know,” he said.

Dad scoffed. “Oh, you don’t know. How convenient. And I suppose you’ll just keep living at home, collecting the money we send you every month, until you do know. Whenever that might be.”

“I have a job. I can move out.”

Steve flinched at Dad’s harsh bark of laughter. “Is he serious right now?” he said to Mom. “Go ahead, Steven, be my guest. Move out. Take your minimum wage job and use it to put a downpayment on an apartment. While you’re at it, pay the insurance on your car, buy your own groceries, pay to heat your fucking house because it’ll be winter soon.” Dad threw his fork down and scooted his chair back with a scraping sound.

“I’m not going to waste my time listening to your shit tonight. I think I’ve heard enough of it to last a lifetime,” said Dad severely, walking away toward the exit.

  
  
  


Mom offered to call him a cab home, but Steve told her he’d rather walk. It would take him about forty-five minutes. He didn’t mind. He didn’t think he could handle going home while Dad was still awake. He hadn’t felt this angry since—maybe since seeing Jonathan Beyer’s through Nance’s window. Even fighting with Billy didn’t feel like this. That was something worse. 

Anger swelled inside him, pushing against all his seams. If he went home now, Dad would probably kick him out. He wondered how much a deposit really was. He should figure that out. Probably, he should figure out what he wanted to do.

Steve didn’t know how long he’d been walking; Hawkins plucked at his muscle memory, moving his feet without consulting his brain. Up ahead, he heard someone say, “Steve!” When he looked up, he saw the familiar line of houses leading down to the Wheeler house.

Nancy and her friend Allison were sitting at the end of her driveway, waving to him. “It’s local cool guy Steve Harrington,” said Allison when he was closer. Nancy grinned up at him. She was drinking a beer, her nose scrunching delicately every time she took a sip. Steve had kind of forgotten there was a time he knew people beyond Billy Hargrove.

He lifted his hand limply then shoved it into his pocket. “That’s me,” he said.

“Steve did you get any of my messages? I’ve been calling you,” said Nancy.

He blinked down at her. “What? No sorry. I’ve been busy.” Busy avoiding his phone like he owed it money.

“Huh,” said Nancy, making one of her cute speculative faces. “Well, I just wanted to ask if you were interested in hanging out with us tonight. So this is pretty convenient.”

Steve sank slowly down in front of them, crossing his legs. He was tired of walking. He was so fucking tired of everything. A flash of light drew his attention to the horizon, and he watched a faraway car turn onto a side road. “What’s happening tonight?” he said, keeping his eyes on the headlights until they were gone.

“Last big party of the summer,” said Allison. “Then we go back to school.”

Huh. “Huh,” said Steve. “Haven’t had the best experience with parties lately.”

Nancy extended her beer to him and he took it without thinking. It was cold and bitter on his tongue. She rested her chin on her knees and watched him drink the rest of her beer with a pensive expression. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” she said softly.

Steve scoffed.

“You? I feel like  _ I _ haven’t seen you in forever,” said Allison. Steve looked over at her. Her hair had grown out, now brushing against her shoulders. She was just as pretty as he remembered. He felt a stab of anger at Billy for taking that away from him. Just another good thing he’d ruined in Steve’s life.

“Tell me what’s happening at this party,” he said, still looking at her.

Nancy reached behind her for another beer and popped the top with her mom’s wine opener. She pushed the sweating beer into his hand. “Why don’t we just see for ourselves.”

 

+++

 

Tommy came through with the coke, and Billy spent the first fifteen minutes at Carol’s snorting bumps of it off the back of his hand. In his other hand, he worked steadily on a bottle of vodka. Slowly, with each sip, his thoughts receded into soft static. He wanted them gone completely. 

Someone pulled him out of the bathroom and made him do another shot. Whiskey this time. He thought it might have been Tess. He remembered a warm hand on his back. Then he remembered getting into Carol’s car, sticking his head out the window to feel the night air, that warm hand on his leg now, and the blur of Hawkins sharpening into the picture of Chad Lattimore’s front lawn.

His face was numb. Everything seemed oversaturated with sound and color. Someone tugged at his hand, and he looked up at Tess with her pretty dark hair pulled into a high ponytail. Up ahead, Carol and Tommy were disappearing points. She tugged at him again and he willed his legs to work right. He had to think about each step independently as he followed after her.

She pulled him inside and directed him to the back yard where Chad kept the keg and a couple coolers of beer. Billy was momentarily caught by the sight of short brown hair. His stomach lurched.

Tommy distracted him with a beer. He watched Billy swaying on his feet and laughed. The sound was so loud. It rang around his head. Tommy patted him on the shoulder, and that was enough to knock him back a step. “Been a while since I’ve seen this Billy,” he said, sounding gleeful.

Billy tried to say something back but his tongue felt too thick to get the words out. He weakly raised his beer. Someone was touching him again. He blinked down at Tess. The pink of her hoop earrings vibrated at him and he had to squint past them to see her face. She was giving him a wry smile.

“You look like you need to sit,” she said and tugged at his wrist until she got him perched on the edge of a pool chair. He shook his hand free of hers, the sensation of her dry skin on his arm unsettling. His thoughts were starting to clear up a little. The coke was probably wearing down.

He kept getting caught on passing glimpses of brown hair. They stopped his breath every time.

“Are you okay?” said Tess softly.

Billy looked at her and realized he had a hand twisted in his shirt. Moving his head at all made him feel kind of nauseous. He repeated her question in his head because he’d already forgotten it and started laughing. “M’ fucking fine,” he said, fumbling around for his cigarettes. He needed something to clear his head. He managed to get one out and light it.

Tess said, “Do you want to go inside? You don’t look so good.”

Billy pulled on the cigarette too hard and made himself cough. Tess’ little hand came to rest on his shoulder, and when he looked up at her, she was already motioning for him to follow her again. Billy swayed to his feet. She took hold of his wrist and he didn’t shrug her off this time.

A lot more people had gotten here since they’d arrived. Tess parted the throng with one hand and guided Billy with the other. They broke through the mob somewhere between the living room and the front door. She guided him to a side table next to a couch and he sat on it, accidentally knocking over a picture frame. No one looked up at the clatter.

“Tommy says you’re leaving on Sunday,” said Tess, coiling a lock of hair around her finger.

“Yeah,” he said, and he meant to say more, but his attention snagged on a glimpse of Nancy fuckin’ Wheeler. Someone moved in the throng and then he saw Steve next to her.  

His chest seized.

Steve was sitting next to Wheeler and across from—his girl. Allison. She was smiling real pretty at Harrington. He seemed to inspire that kind of thing in the girls of Hawkins. They all smiled pretty for King Steve.  _ And so do you. _

Seeing Harrington was so much worse than he’d imagined. The weight of it staggered him. Almost felt like he was fuckin’ paralyzed sitting there, a spooked little rabbit.

Then Steve laughed and the sound jolted him on the table, enough so he could stand up and head for the bathroom. Tess followed after him and he didn’t stop her.

 

+++

 

At some point, Allison nicked a fifth of vodka from the kitchen and Steve was pulling steady shots from it while she and Nancy discussed their plans for the school year. Steve didn’t want to be there but he also didn’t want to be in his house, and if he was being honest, he didn’t really want to be in his body either. He took another shot.

“Woah there tiger, looks like you’re drinking to forget something,” said Allison, stopping mid-sentence to watch Steve glug down the vodka. Nancy’s fine eyebrows puckered up at him.

“Steve, are you okay? You’ve seemed kind of off tonight,” said Nancy.

He wiped his hand across his mouth, stifling a bubble of laughter. He thought it was so funny Nancy thought she knew him. He wanted to tell her she didn’t know shit about him anymore.

“M’fine. It’s nothing,” he said.

Her frown deepened. He could feel Allison staring at him too and wanted to snap at both of them to mind their own fucking business. Rolling his eyes toward the ceiling, he said, “Told Dad I’m not going to school.” Just to get that expression off Nancy’s face.

It worked. She looked at him with pity now. He took another pointed pull from the bottle. “Oh, Steve, that couldn’t have been easy,” she said.

He snorted. “Yeah. Understatement.”

“What’re you doing instead, if you’re not going to school?” said Allison. She asked him with genuine curiosity. Not at all like Dad had asked him. Or fuck—Billy.

Shrugging, he said, “No fuckin’ idea.”

“Nancy says you can carry a tune,” said Allison.

“Also a decent cook,” said Nancy, waving a hand at him like he was a prized show pony. He squinted at her; Nancy’s profile kept dividing, winking in and out of focus with the light.

“Do you like to cook?” said Allison.

He shrugged. He’d liked to cook for Billy. He always made such a racket about Susan’s cooking and overcompensated with his exaggerated praise for anything Steve made. Fuck. He took a pull off the bottle, mollified to feel the rising ache behind his eyes recede a bit.

“I’ll just have to figure it out I guess,” he said.

Nancy placed her hand on his shoulder, and he jumped because he wasn’t expecting her to touch him. “I support whatever you want to do Steve, you know that, but...maybe give it some more thought? At least hear your dad out.”

The words entered his head slowly, and when they were all neatly filed away, he found himself sputtering out a laugh. He shook her hand off him. “Why does everyone think I haven’t given this thought? I mean, Jesus Christ. I  _ do _ occasionally think for myself.”

“Steve, that’s not what I’m saying,” said Nancy. He rolled his eyes and her brows pulled together even further. He was having flashbacks to when they dated and circled the same argument over and over. At least her position hadn’t changed. Something about that was sobering.

Allison said, “You know, my mom’s a counselor at our local high school. She helps kids with this kind of crap all the time. I can give you her number if you want.”

Steve lolled his head over to look at her. He wished again Billy hadn’t ever come into his life and ruined everything good. Allison seemed like the exact sort of friend Dad would like. “Allison,” he’d say. “She’s my girlfriend.” And that would be the end of that.

She smiled a pretty little smile for him. “No pressure or anything. It just might help.”

He was about to respond when a flash of gold stung the corner of his eye. He saw it pass like a lightning bug through the crowd and into the kitchen. Distracted, he said, “Thanks, yeah, I’d like that.”

 

+++

 

Billy pulled Tess into the bathroom and locked the door behind them. He caged her against the sink and inspected their reflection. In this lighting, her hair was almost the same exact color as Steve’s. Same touches of red and everything. He watched his glassy eyes in the mirror roaming over them. 

Something about seeing Harrington had sobered him right up. Tess felt warm and soft against him, and that was sobering too. She pressed her ass back to this crotch, grinning up at him. She even had fuckin’ dimples. How about that.

“You know you’re an asshole, right?” she said.

His hand curled around her hip, squeezing. “So I’ve been told.”

Tess turned in his arms and placed her small hands on his chest. She had broad shoulders for a girl. He watched them shifting under her shirt in the mirror.

“But a cute one,” she whispered, lips against his ear.

Billy swallowed around his dry mouth. Steve’s face kept floating in front of him. He wished he’d gotten a better look at him. He wanted to know if Harrington looked any different now. It seemed like he should.

Without thinking too hard, he smoothed his hand down to Tess’ ass and gave it a light squeeze.

“How cute are we talking?” he murmured. 

Her eyes fluttered and she sank slowly to her knees, little hands tinkering with his belt. “Very,” she said.

If he looked in the mirror, he couldn’t see her face. Just the back of her head. Her ponytail. He wrapped it in his hand and gave it a tug.

“Take this down,” he said.

She peered up at him through the vee of his open fly. Her hand cupped his soft cock, weighing him, before moving to her hair. She shook it out with a graceful move of her head. Lying flat, Billy couldn’t tell how long it was in the mirror. The wisps of red at her crown glimmered under the yellow lighting.

“Better,” he murmured, tangling his fist into the hair at her nape.  

She started mouthing at him again, then took him out when he slowly filled up. Billy concentrated on the image of her bobbing head in the mirror, his big hand white against her hair. She was working him over with both hands and he still wasn’t fully hard.

When she tried to pull back, he held her in place, just to look at that pretty picture for a moment longer. Then he let her go and she eased slowly off him. Cool air wrapped around his cock.

“Too much to drink?” she said.

Billy watched himself untangle his hand from her hair and put himself away. When he looked down, she was frowning at him. “No,” he said and unlocked the door.

  
  
  


He passed through the thinning crowd in the living room, making himself look straight ahead, and to the backyard. Then plan was to walk back to Ted’s. Chad’s backyard met this small strip of woods separating Lyle street from Woodburn. It’d probably only be a fifteen-minute walk if he took the shortcut. He could grab his car tomorrow and leave it with Susan. 

The keg was dead by now and only a few people were still outside. Billy passed them, nodding when they nodded at him. He walked down the stone path to the edge of the woods and heard the sound of puking over the crunch of pine needles underfoot.

A figure was leaning heavily against a tree, stream of watery vomit dribbling between the brace of their legs. They straightened slowly and wiped a hand over their mouth. Billy’s hand froze around his carton of cigarettes.

Steve looked blearily over his shoulder, eyes unfocused, but Billy could pinpoint the exact moment he recognized him. What little color was left in his face disappeared.

“You okay there Harrington?” said Billy, wondering where his girl was. Where fuckin’ Nancy Wheeler was. He started walking toward him then stopped about a foot away.

Steve started laughing, holding himself up with one hand braced against the tree. “‘M just fuckin’ great.”

The urge to touch him was instinctive. He wanted it like an itch for nicotine. Like jonesing for a bump. He shoved his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t try anything. “You got a ride home?” 

“Why? Wanna bum one?” sneered Steve. He leaned back against the tree and slowly slid down until he was sitting in the dirt. Billy took a tentative step closer.

“Don’t look so good man,” he said. “I can grab someone—”

“Can you just stop,” said Steve. “Just—fuckin’ stop. Wanna help me? Leave me the fuck alone.”

Billy was expecting something like that, but he still flinched, feeling the words crack against him with a physical weight. “Okay,” he said.

He shifted on his feet, willing himself to leave. If he was smart he wouldn’t have even stopped. It was best Steve got him out of his system, moved on. It wouldn’t be like that for him, but maybe Steve could just move the fuck on. Live his normal life.

For him, Hawkins would forever be a rotting blight on his life, except for the small time he got to have Steve to himself. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t move. He wanted to freeze Harrington’s memory, while he still remembered who Billy was.

Steve wiped at his mouth again. Even in the dark Billy could see his red lips. They glistened. His hands twitched in his pockets again.

“Y’know,” said Steve, words slurring together. He paused, mouth pinching up. “You’re the biggest asshole I know.” He sounded so tired like he was repeating a point he’d told a hundred other people.

Billy dragged his bottom lip into his mouth. “Not the first to say that,” he said.

Steve scoffed and shifted back against the tree, chin lifting. His eyes were glittering at Billy through the dark. “And you’re— _ bullshit _ ,” he said, spitting the word. “You’re a huge asshole and you’re total fucking  _ bullshit _ .” Steve dug his heels into his eyes and when he took them away, Billy saw the glisten of tears on his cheeks.

He didn’t think he could talk. His throat was so tight, burning where Neil had wrung him out. “I know,” he croaked.  

Steve went on, “I thought—Jesus, I don’t even know. ‘M so stupid.  _ So _ fucking stupid.”

“You’re not stupid—”

“—Why’d you even bother? If you were just going to leave. Why fucking  _ bother _ ?” His voice cracked on the final word, face crumbling. Steve took in a hiccuping breath and his eyes fluttered shut like he was trying to get a hold of himself.

He suddenly groaned and pressed the side of his face to the tree. “Jesus ‘m dizzy,” he mumbled.

Billy sank down into a crouch. He was an arm’s length away from him now. “Want me to get someone?” he said.

Steve shook his head. His eyes were still closed, silver tear tracks slipping steadily beneath the fan of his eyelashes.

“Water? Can grab you some.”

His eyebrows scrunched up. “Know what I really want?” he mumbled into his shoulder. “I want to forget I ever met you.”

Billy felt wetness on his face and hastily scrubbed a hand down his cheek. “That’ll happen sooner than you think,” he whispered.

Steve started smiling again, breathing out a miserable laugh. “No it won’t. I’ll remember you for the rest of my life.”

Billy didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to leave Steve here without knowing if he had a way home. If someone was—going to take care of him. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, a little desperately.

“Why? Got exactly what you wanted,” mumbled Steve. He was peering at Billy through the slit of his eyes. “Got your warm mouth.”

He flinched again. Jesus Christ. “It's better this way, Harrington. Trust me.”

Steve was already shaking his head before Billy even finished. He slowly dragged himself upright, and when he looked at Billy his eyes seemed sharp. Almost sober. “Do you know what I did before coming here?”

Billy slowly shook his head.

“Take a guess,” he said.

“Harrington.  _ Steve _ . I don’t know.”

“Told my dad I wasn’t going to school,” he said.

Billy blinked at him and Steve started laughing, a little hysterically. “Yeah, told him during fuckin’—family dinner at the country club.”

“Holy shit, man,” he breathed. Steve’s eyes seemed so bright. “Why’d you—why’d you do that?”

He shrugged. “Cause he had to know. So don’t—don’t fucking tell me what’s best for me. You have no fucking idea.”

Billy thought about Steve sitting across from his old man, tossing away his entire life in a single night. It was totally fucking crazy. He didn’t know what to do. What to say. “Steve—” he started.

“Steve, oh my god! There you are.” He turned at the sound of crunching needles and watched Nancy Wheeler and Harrington’s girl picking their way down the stone path over to them.

Billy slowly righted himself, brushing away dirt from his knees.

Nancy crouched next to Steve, putting a hand on his shoulder like a little girlfriend. Billy’s eyes started burning.

“You just disappeared,” she said.

He felt someone staring at him and looked down to find his girl entertaining him with a speculative look.

“You taking him home?” he said. His voice came out raw sounding so he cleared his throat a couple times. She nodded.

“Good,” said Billy. Then there wasn’t any other reason for him to stick around. He headed back toward the house. It would take longer to get home this way but he thought he needed the walk.

 

+++

 

Steve snoozed his alarm about ten times before Mom came in and turned it off for him. He blinked one eye open at her and felt like he was going to vomit doing just that much. 

“I assume you set that for a reason—by the way, it’s one. Join the waking world, please,” said Mom, leaving a cup of coffee for him on his desk. Fuck he was late for work. He thought about calling out for the third time this week and dismissed it at the same time. He smelled overwhelmingly like vomit and his head was ringing, but somehow the idea of staying home with Dad all day seemed worse.

Steve dragged himself out of bed, ignored the coffee, and went about the long process of cleaning himself up. He stood under the warm spray of his shower, picking through his memories of last night, ordering them chronologically so he could think about Billy last.

He knew he didn’t imagine seeing him. Steve’s gut churned. He kind of felt like throwing up again.  _ That _ he remembered doing last night.  

Steve drove over to Scoops Ahoy on autopilot, still sifting through the night. He worked the first half of his shift with the new kid, Mike, and he did that on autopilot too. Around three Robin showed up to close. She took one look at him and wolf whistled.

“Someone had a good night,” she said, hopping up onto the counter and filching an oreo from one of the topping dispensers.

He put his head in his hands and groaned. “Pretty sure I told Billy off.”

Robin hummed. “You tell him he’s a capital A asshole?”

Steve thought about it. “Definite possibility,” he said. He’d said a lot. Some of it he remembered, and some of it he only remembered wanting to say.

Robin inspected her reflection in the display case, fiddling with her hair sticking out of the sailor cap. “What’d he say?”

It was weird. He could barely remember Billy saying anything. Mostly he remembered the way he looked. Steve hated a part of him had been glad to see him. He did remember one thing though. “He told me I was better off without him or some shit.”

Robin snorted. “Ain’t that the truth.”

Instinctually, he thought to defend Billy but stopped himself short. Fuck, he wished it was true. He wished he could be better off without him. His life would be so much fucking simpler.

Seemingly satisfied with the state of her hair, Robin stopped fiddling with it and braced her chin atop her hand so she could inspect him like a little judge. “I’m gonna tell you something, okay,” she said seriously.

He felt suddenly suspicious. “Oh my god,  _ what _ ?”

Robin leaned back against the wall with a world-weary sigh. She popped another cookie into her mouth, and speaking around it, said, “I had this boyfriend back in Cincinnati. Don’t know if I’ve mentioned him.”

She hadn’t but she didn’t stop for him to tell her that. Robin went on, “That shit was the real deal, you know. I thought I was gonna marry this guy.” Steve raised an eyebrow and she huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, right? I mean I was dumb and seventeen. I thought I was gonna marry every guy I fucked. Anyways, yadda yadda we fall in love and plan to run away together, all that romantic shit, and the night before we leave—he disappears.”

“What, seriously?” said Steve.

She nodded. “Didn’t hear anything from him for about two years after that. Nothing. Radio silence.”

“Holy shit.”

“Right? So, obviously I wanted to kill him. I had it all worked out, exactly what I’d say when I saw him again.”

Steve inspected a smudge on the display glass and started working at it. He could see Robin watching him in the reflection. “You ever see him again?”

Her laugh was quick and humorless. “No. God no. But I got a letter from him like a year ago. He was making amends for some sober program or something. He told me the ship was always going down but I was too good to drown with it.”

Steve frowned at her reflection. He threw the towel over his shoulder and turned around so he could see if she was making this shit up. “Wait, are you serious?” he said.

“As a funeral, my dude.” She hopped off the counter, popping a handful of cookies in her mouth. It was totally gross watching her eat them and speak at the same time. “My point, Stevie, is assholes are assholes for a reason. Some even think they’re the heroes.”

She left him on the floor to clean up all her crumbs, so he spent a long while doing that on autopilot too.

 

+++

 

Billy didn’t get home to the Bueller’s until three in the morning and he didn’t wake up the next day until five in the afternoon. Everything for basic sat neatly packed in the corner of the guest bedroom. Mary must have come in here at some point while he was sleeping. A plate of cold eggs and toast sat at the edge of his desk. 

Billy forced himself to turn over. Dappled sunlight roamed over his ceiling. It traveled from corner to corner, at pace with his muddy thoughts. He needed to drop the car off with Susan at some point. He knew that. And Ted was supposed to bring him to the airport tomorrow. His flight left at 8:10 in the morning, bound for Hartsfield-Jackson before noon.

He examined all his stuff, his entire life packed away and gave himself a countdown of ten to get up and shower. He counted to ten six times before dragging himself upright. It was a start.

When he finally emerged in a new set of clothes, he found Mary elbow deep in the middle of making dinner. She paused to push a spoon in front of his face. “Taste,” she demanded. Billy obliged. It was about a thousand times better than anything Susan ever cooked. “Good? Or too much salt?” she said.

“Good,” agreed Billy.

She hummed in approval, returning to her stirring. “We thought you might be dead. Glad to see you’re still with us.”

“I’m still here,” agreed Billy. He leaned his hip against the counter, watching her work, and stir, and taste. “Actually, I dunno if I’ll be around for dinner tonight,” he said, immediately feeling like an asshole for saying it.  

“Oh?” said Mary. She didn’t sound too put out. “That’s alright. I’ll pack some away for your flight tomorrow.”

She said it so simply. Billy realized this was the type of shit she must do for her own kids. He coughed, clearing the itch in his throat. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”  He didn’t know how to say he appreciated everything she was doin’, but he hoped maybe she’d get it.

“Mind if I use the phone?” he said.

Mary scoffed. “Sure, but we charge by the minute.”

He rolled his eyes at her corny mom jokes. Susan was always doing that shit too. And his own mom, when she was alive. It pulled a reluctant smile from him. He punched in the home phone, and it rang twice before Susan clicked on. “Hello? Susan Hargrove speaking,” she said.

“Hey, it’s me. Mind if I drop the car off a little later than we said? I gotta do something.”

  
  
  


Billy nearly turned back about a hundred times, but he blazed past every landmark, telling himself he’d head back at the next one until he passed that one too. It was eight, and the sun was almost below the horizon, lifting the stars from darkness. Was a pretty sight. 

He concentrated on the feeling of the wheel under his hand, the burn of smoke in his mouth. Joy Division side B. He inspected every detail, clogging up his brain with the present until the final landmark passed him by and he found himself parked in front of Harrington’s house.

It was a little bit like traveling to the past if such a thing were possible. Felt like none of the shit between them happened, looking at the neat lawn, and Steve’s car parked beside it.

He counted to ten again, telling himself he’d leave by the time he reached one. At two, the door opened, revealing Steve. Something like relief washed over him.

He’d only meant to drive by, see a small piece of Harrington before leaving. Seeing him in person was fuckin’ overwhelming. His chest constricted painfully.

They looked at each other across the lawn, the dark of night interrupted only by the streetlamp and the buttery lighting of the Harrington’s home. Steve started walking toward him. Billy’s heart made a racket in his chest, watching Steve get closer.

He rolled the window down when Steve was standing in front of it. He was wearing pajama pants even though it wasn’t even fuckin nine and his shirt—Billy nearly choked on his spit. Steve was wearing his oldest Metallica shirt, the one he’d had on the night shit with Neil went down.

“Heard your car,” explained Steve, breaking the long silence.

“Yeah, uh, didn’t mean to wake you up or nothin’,” said Billy.

Steve’s mouth pinched up. “Yeah.” They blinked at each other all stupid again. “What  _ did _ you mean to do?” he said.

Billy opened his mouth. Closed it. Shit Steve looked so good, and he was right here. He was right fucking here and Billy was never going to see him again, not after tonight. A warm breeze picked at Harrington’s hair, tossing it around his face. Billy cleared his throat and popped all the locks up. “Will you get in?”

“Why? What are you doing here, man?”

His arms were crossed and he was frowning. Billy tried to order his thoughts. He didn’t know how to tell Harrington what he was fuckin’ feeling. Maybe he didn’t know. “Can you just—get in.  _ Please _ .” He hoped he’d be able to explain better if they were sitting side-by-side. Steve’s expression cracked slightly. He walked around the Camaro and sat heavily in the front seat, arms still crossed and jaw ticking.

Billy wordlessly offered him a cigarette. They smoked in silence until they hit the filter. He turned the car on and Steve startled beside him.  

“What? You kidnapping me?” he said.

“I wanna go somewhere” said Billy, already idling down the road.

“You are,” snapped Steve. “Tomorrow.”

Billy didn’t answer him. He dug around for another cigarette even though he’d smoked like five since leaving the Bueller’s. By the time he reached the filter on that, the turn to 42 was coming up. Steve glared out the window, brows furrowed so far they were nearly touching.

He looked up when Billy turned his blinker on at the first exit. “This field of yours? Where is it?” said Billy.

The exit looped around and ended at the entrance to a cattle farm. When Steve still hadn't answered him, he said, “Right or left?”

Harrington had an inscrutable expression on his face. His eyes were darting over him, never landing in one place for too long. “Are you serious right now?”

Billy slammed the clicker down. “Left it is.”

“It’s right, Jesus,” said Steve, rolling his eyes. So Billy put the right blinker on and they crawled down the dark road. He couldn’t see anything beyond the pierce of the Camaro’s headlights.

“What are we doing, Billy? Seriously.”

A part of him thrilled at hearing his name in Steve’s mouth again. “You got me all curious about these stars of yours,” he said.

Steve snorted, returning his attention to the dark square of his window. They bumped along in his silent car until he said, “Make another right up here.”

The clicker pattered softly between them. “It’s up on the left. There’s a walking path. Park on the side of the road.” Steve pointed to the path when they came up to it and Billy diligently docked the car off the shoulder. The moment the engine was off, Steve got out of the car.

He watched Harrington make a determined line for the walking path and followed after him.

Steve marched ahead of him and Billy lagged behind. They walked in silence. Around them, crickets chirped and grass rustled. Billy looked up at the sky. He hated to admit it, but the stars did look fuckin’ nice.

Eventually, the path dwindled to nothing but tamped down grass and then long reeds whispering against his pants. Steve stopped at the crest of a hill. It looked down on a rolling gnoll that grew progressively darker until it bled completely into the shadows. At its highest point, Steve was gilded by moonlight. He looked fuckin’ beautiful.

He turned to Billy. They were only a few steps apart, but he didn’t know if he should get closer. Billy cleared his throat a couple times and still couldn’t talk. He counted to ten. “You want to know the real reason I bothered?” he said.

Steve’s mouth thinned. The night breeze threw his hair around his face and Billy took another step. Their shadows mingled. Harrington only arched an eyebrow at Billy, waiting.

“I wanted you to remember me.”

Steve’s throat looked almost white in the moonlight. It bobbed every time he swallowed. “Why?” he whispered.

His throat clogged up again. How many times had he thought about Harrington over the past two years? He willed himself to talk.  _ Ten, nine, eight _ ….

“You, uh.” He looked down at the whispering grass. Cleared his throat again. “I wanted you so bad, man. And I didn’t. I didn’t think I’d get anything else.”

When he looked up Steve’s eyes shone wetly. His lips parted, eyebrows drawn together. “You didn’t fucking want anything else,” he said.  

Billy was already shaking his head. He moved the final step and took Steve’s hand. He almost didn’t register the shock of touching him again, caught up in the rolling tide of everything he wanted to say. There was so fucking much. “You were right. When you said I was bullshit—I  _ am _ bullshit. I know that.”

Steve’s hand clenched around his. He didn’t take his hand away though, so Billy fixated on the warmth of his pulse, the feeling of his fingers threaded through his. “Man, you drive me so fuckin’ crazy,” said Billy, voice shaking. “I never thought I’d get anything else with you, and then—I did. I just. I don’t know how to do this kind of shit.” He felt wetness on his cheeks again. The image of Steve blurred and he blinked until he could see him clearly.

When he looked down, he realized their hands were shaking together. “I’ve never felt this way before, never done this kind of shit. Fuck man, you—I didn’t think I’d ever get to have this.” His eyes blurred over again and he choked down the spit in his mouth, looking up at the stars until his vision cleared. “But I’m—you said it, I’m fuckin’ bullshit.”

The stars ran together. “You don’t deserve that shit,” he whispered.

Steve took his hand away, jarring him back to the moment. “You know, I’m really fucking tired of people telling me what I deserve,” said Steve. He  _ looked  _ fuckin’ tired. Beneath the silver track of tears, Billy could see his dark circles.

Observing the field below them, Steve said, “You got your wish, you know. Don’t think I’ll ever forget you now. Don’t think it’s fuckin’ possible.”

“I’m sorry,” said Billy again. It was a fucking understatement. He was sorry he’d ever looked Harrington’s way. He was sorry he’d fucked everything up. He was sorry he’d never get to see him again. He wanted to touch Steve again, but he’d drifted further away.

“Why?” said Steve. “I’m not. I don’t actually want to forget you. I want—I want to remember. What it can be.” Steve sighed, a long gusting breath, and sank into the grass. “Fuck, I’m tired,” he said. Billy peered down at him. He couldn’t see the red in his hair under the moonlight.

He sat down beside him. Their knees brushed and he could feel the warmth of him through his flannel pants. Steve’s neck craned back toward the sky. Billy followed his gaze, wondering which constellation he was looking at. “Dad’s kicking me out,” he said.

“Shit. Really?” He almost apologized again. Jesus Christ.

Steve huffed out a laugh. His smile was small but genuine. “Yeah. You know how much a down payment on an apartment costs?”

Billy shook his head. 

Still laughing, he said, “Pretty much my whole fuckin’ paycheck.” He paused, considering. “Worth it though.”

Billy found himself blurting out, “I couldn’t leave without seeing you, man.”

Steve’s smile faded, stopping just short of a frown. He went on before he could chicken out, “You asked me what I was doing here. Fuck, I just. I had to see you. One more time.”

Their shoulders were touching now, a line of heat running along the length of his arm. Steve picked carefully at a thread on the hem of his pants. “What’re your plans now that you’ve seen me?” he said softly.

Billy vaguely remembered him saying something similar that first night he turned up on Harrington’s front step. “Well.” He paused, turning his attention back to the sky. “Was kinda thinking you’d show me these stars.”

The heat of his body receded when Steve laid back into the grass. Billy chased after it, leaning back too and settling himself against Harrington’s body. They laid like that, fingers barely brushing, just looking at the stars. Billy turned his head, finding Steve already observing him. Each of his warm breaths fanned across his face.

“What do you want me to show you?” whispered Steve, hunting over him with his dark eyes.

His heart lurched. Billy closed the gap between them, and it felt so natural to press his lips against Steve’s, the same thing he’d done without thinking for weeks. Steve’s mouth was warm and unmoving beneath him. When Billy started to pull away, he surged against him, a small noise catching in his mouth.

He wasn’t expecting Steve’s hands to tangle in his hair or for him to scramble on top of Billy and deepen the kiss until neither of them could breathe. His whole body was alight with something burning and warm. He felt desperate to taste every part of Steve. His lips, his tongue, his teeth. He wanted to sip away at him until he was drunk and sated—and he didn’t think he’d ever be.

Billy grasped at every part of him he could, a mad conquest of touches. His hands sunk into Harrington’s hair. They were barely kissing now, lips just blurring against each other. Steve’s hands felt warm on his cheeks, stroking over his skin. He kept pulling back to look at Billy and Billy kept dragging him back into a kiss.

He dragged Steve back to him now, muffling his breath of laughter, and rolled them over so he was half-way on top of Steve. He mouthed his way down to his throat, biting and sucking over his beauty marks. He wanted to retrace them all, just to remind himself where they were. “I’ll write to you at basic,” he mumbled against Steve’s skin. He felt kind of drunk. “Every fuckin’ day if you want.”

“You’ll run out of things to say like immediately,” breathed Steve. He pressed Billy against him with a hand at the back of his head, moaning when he bit at the junction between his shoulder and throat.

“I’ll think of more,” he panted. Billy licked over his tender bite, drawing far enough away to see Steve clearly. His hand kept stroking through Billy’s hair. “Can I do that?”

He watched Steve’s eyes go bright again and Billy’s pricked with responding heat. Steve nodded quickly.  “I want you,” he breathed, pulling him into a long, searching kiss. “Fuck, I want you.”

Billy wanted to look at him again but Steve kept him firmly in place. Against his lips, he said, “Okay.”

 

+++

 

They kissed slow, moving against each other even slower. Maybe hours passed. Steve didn’t really know. He was too afraid to think about anything but Billy here, kissing him, moving his hand down, down, down. Something like time had no place between them right now. 

The grass was damp beneath them, fronds clinging to their sweat-slicked skin. They were both shirtless. Each time Billy’s chest moved against his nipples, an ache traveled his body, settling in his cock. He felt like he’d been hard for hours. All he wanted to do was keep Billy right here, forever.

Billy panted hotly in his ear while Steve circled a careful finger around his hole. He held Billy’s chin and made him suck on his fingers while he did it. His mouth was so sweet around him, hot and tight, lips swollen from kissing for so long. He slid his wetted fingers to his opening, and when he slipped inside, they both moaned. Billy’s body jolted against him.

He worked him open until he could fit a second finger inside, then a third. Billy suckled diligently at his fingers every time he fed them to him. He looked drunk with it. A warm flush sat high on his cheeks, and his fine baby hairs stuck to his skin. When Steve positioned his cock against him, his eyes fluttered, turning glassy.

This intense warmth filled him looking at Billy. He held his face and pushed inside him, capturing his breathless moan on his tongue. “Fuck,” whispered Billy.

“That’s the idea,” said Steve, and he captured Billy’s smile too. Billy shifted so he was straddling Steve, taking control of the rhythm. He pressed his face to the join of his neck, hips rolling down on him. He hadn’t come in forever it felt like and Billy was pulling his orgasm from him with every movement.

“Fuck you feel good, baby,” said Steve. Billy whined, rhythm picking up. His cock was hard between them, leaking against Steve’s belly. When he tried to get a hand between them, Billy shook his head and said, “Like this.”

So he moved over Steve, little noises punching out of him on every thrust, cock leaking against Steve’s belly. He was so occupied by the feeling of Billy’s heat, by the mount of his orgasm, that he didn’t realize Billy was tightening up in his arms until a pulse of warmth flooded between them, making the slide of their bodies even slicker.

He came with a jolt, pulsing into Billy. He came for a long time. Billy stayed on top of him even when he started to soften. The light around them was gray. He noticed that only when Billy rolled off him with a low moan, flopping into the grass beside him. They were both still breathing hard.

He made himself ask, “What time is it?”

Billy said, without even looking at his watch, “Five.”

“You said you’d write to me,” he whispered.

Billy’s hand found his, tangling their fingers together. “I will,” he said.

“Promise me.”

“I’ll write to you every fuckin’ day, Stevie. More.”

“Liar,” he said, turning onto his side and smoothing a hand through the tacky mess on Billy’s stomach. He flashed Steve a brilliant smile.

“Okay, once a day,” he amended.

His chest seized looking at Billy laying boneless and sated beside him. He was so fuckin’ beautiful. And he was leaving. “You have to go soon,” he said.

Billy nodded. He gave Steve’s hand a squeeze. “I do. But not yet.” When he tugged him even closer, Steve went without complaint. He hid his face in the warmth of Billy’s neck, breathing in the clean scent of his sweat. He stayed like that until the light moved from silver to gold.


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy goes off to basic. Steve gets an apartment. Like always, nothing goes according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO WE MADE IT. Welcome to Emily's shamelessly indulgent epilogue, where she's hamfisted every ounce of fluff possible into the final chapter. Seriously. This is my self-indulgent sugar scoop to mellow out the bite of all previous 70k words. I want to thank everyone so much for following this story. I love all the feedback with every ounce of my little heart. I hope everyone finds this ending satisfactory. Enjoy!

_Aug. 15, 1986_

_406 Danning Way_

_Hawkins, Indiana_

Stevie,

I don’t know if you still wanna hear from me or whatever. Sorry I haven’t been able to write you sooner. It’s been kind of crazy down here. For one, they cut off all my hair. Probably wouldn’t even recognize me. Apparently, I’m also color blind, according to the Doc. That’s another thing. They find out all the shit that’s wrong with you right away. This one guy in my squad needed his wisdom teeth taken out and he was fuckin’ loaded for a whole day.

Our Sergeant made him tell the whole squad a bedtime story before we were cleared to sleep. I dunno what kinda shit the Doc gave him, but he told about forty people his girl back home liked to suck on his nipples. Guess we have something in common.

I never thought I’d say this, but I miss Susan’s cooking. The food at chow makes her look like fuckin’ Julia Childs. Makes me miss your cooking too. If I’m ever back in town, you’ll have to make me your lasagna again. Anyways. Tell me about your new apartment. Did Elvis make the trip? How are the kids? Your old man giving you too much shit?

I’ve been thinking about you, Stevie. I guess I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I probably won’t be able to call you for a while, but send me your new number. Maybe Serge will dislodge that stick in his ass and let us use the phone.

Alright, gotta wrap this up. I’ll try to write again soon (if you want).

Billy

 

_Aug. 20, 1986_

_3rd PLT B Co 4-12th Inf. Regt._

_9000 Kinsman Drive_

_Fort Benning, Georgia_

Billy,

You’re such an asshole. Of course I want you to write me again. So, Elvis did, in fact, make the trip, but that’s about it. Dad didn’t want me touching anything “he spent his hard earned money on”. So I’m sleeping on an air mattress in a single above that gas station by our McDonald’s. It’s not too bad. I don’t have AC, but it’s getting cooler I think.

Also I’m pretty sure I’d recognize you no matter what. I bet you look amazing. I’ve been thinking about you too. I really fuckin miss you. I was thinking, maybe when you’re done with boot camp...maybe I can visit you.

I’m still not really sure what I want to do with like my life, but I’ve talked to some people and I think I have a better idea than before. I’ll tell you about it when you call me (which, by the way, here’s my new number 812-653-1248). A stick in the ass only feels good for so long. Ha ha.

Also. Everyone’s back in school now so the kids have been way less annoying. A lot less people at the shop too. Usually I’m alone a lot. Mom and I have been doing this thing where we go out to dinner about once a week without Dad, so that’s been nice. I think she’s tired of us fighting. She slips me money too, and that helps.

Mostly, ~~I just think about you all the time~~. I spend a lot of time in my head. If you’re back in town, I’ll definitely make you my lasagna. I’ll make you anything you want.

Steve

 

_Aug. 30, 1986_

_406 Danning Way_

_Hawkins, Indiana_

—the craziest shit happened the other day at chow and I had to tell you about it. Remember when we saw Alien together? Our first date or whatever. So, I found out one of the guys here was at that exact showing when we were. Do you know a guy named Ryan Wallace? Anyways, fuckin’ insane to think you were suckin’ me off while right near the same guy I hear snoring every night of my fuckin’ life. ~~Anyways,~~ ~~I’ve been thinkin’ about you too.~~

You’d think I’d have more to think about than my fuckin’ prick in your mouth all the time, but I’ve got a lot of time to myself here. So. You’re not the only one in your head. I wouldn’t mind you visiting whenever I get out of here. I’ve got to collect on that lasagna after all—

 

_Sept. 13, 1986_

_3rd PLT B Co 4-12th Inf. Regt._

_9000 Kinsman Drive_

_Fort Benning, Georgia_

—so I was driving home from Fair Mart the other day. Guess who I fucking saw? Okay, you got me. I’ll tell you. Joyce Byers and fucking Hopper. And they were kissing! I know you don’t probably care about this, but I had to let you know—

 

_September. 15, 1986_

_406 Danning Way_

_Hawkins, Indiana_

—it’s something like two AM here. I gotta get up in like two fucking hours but I couldn’t stop thinking my shit, so now I’m writing you. I don’t know, Stevie. I guess I’ve just been thinking a lot about you. Jesus that crap sounds corny.

Also, I really appreciate that drawing you sent of Hop and Lady Byers macking on each other. You’ve got some real talent, Harrington. That was a real fucking masterpiece. How long did it take you to get the heads so round? The bodies so stick-like? Is that a special Harrington technique or—

 

_Sept. 20, 1986_

_3rd PLT B Co 4-12th Inf. Regt._

_9000 Kinsman Drive_

_Fort Benning, Georgia_

—sometimes I feel like I don’t think about anything else  but  you. It’s actually like two AM here too and I just keep fucking wondering what you’re doing, who you’re talking to. I just wanted to say I—

 

_October. 12, 1986_

_406 Danning Way_

_Hawkins, Indiana_

Harrington,

Shit, it feels like I haven’t talked to you in forever. It’s been crazy here. We’re about to head out on patrol, so I gotta make this brief. Serge isn’t budging on the phone thing, but we have some leave coming up and I can probably call you then.

I wanted to tell you something before I chicken out. Man, I’ve probably written this letter like a hundred times. So. I’m just going to say it, and that’ll be the end of it. I’m sorry. For all the shit that happened between us this summer and everything else. Don't think I ever really told you that.

All the shit I said in Indianapolis too. I guess I really thought I was doing right by you. Thought it was best if you didn’t have to deal with my shit anymore.

You know, you're the best thing to happen to me in Hawkins. Or probably ever. I dunno. Things are different here.

Shit, I’ve gotta end this. I’ll try to call in a couple days.

Billy

 

+++

 

The weather had finally turned, sliding officially into fall. Steve had all his windows open to let the crisp breeze in. He was lying face first on his bed, trying not to mope. The other day, Robin and Ed had helped him drag the mattress upstairs, and it was about the only piece of furniture he owned, sucking up all the space in his little apartment. Despite the draft, and the leaky faucet, and the permanent smell of chili, Steve liked his new place.

It was _his_. He could jerk off as much as he wanted. Could bring anyone over he wanted. He’d only been living there for a few months, but the apartment already felt more like home than home did.

Nearly three months had passed since Billy went off to basic. And nearly a month since Steve received his last letter. He was really trying not to feel like a sad sack over it. It wasn’t so unusual for Billy to take a while to write him back. Anyways, that’s what he told himself.

In the meantime, Steve read and re-read everything they’d written to each other. He’d read the last letter Billy sent about a thousand times. Conservatively. He could probably recite it by memory now.

He used to check his mailbox twice a day, once even three times, but he’d curbed the habit to a conservative once a day after dinner. That way he didn’t have to spend too much time awake feeling all disappointed when he found it empty again.

The first week of November, a whole month since he’d last heard from Billy, Robin invited him over to her place in Lawrenceville. He’d been moping around the shop every day that week, so he guessed she was trying to yank him back to civilization. In all the time he’d known her, he’d never once seen her place.

So he dragged himself out of the house, following her hastily written directions until he found himself parked in front of a small yellow house. A wraparound porch with half its railing stokes missing stood proudly at the house’s front, overgrown grass wisping against it. The house was nice, he thought. Mom would say _quaint_. Two girls he’d never seen before were sitting on the front step, drinking beers. They waved and smiled at him when he stepped out of the car.

“Steve right?” said a girl with short red hair. She had a long nose, freckles dusted over it. He smiled when she did.

“That’s me,” he said.

“Marisa,” said the redhead. “This is Lila.” She gestured with her beer to the girl next to her. Her hair was dark, short and curly.

Lila suddenly leaned back and yelled, “ROBIN! A CUTE BOY IS HERE FOR YOU.” They both laughed at the face he made.

Robin appeared a moment later, carrying a bottle of wine. She wore a pair of long jean shorts and a tank top with no bra. He was used to it by now, but the first time he’d seen her out of uniform, Robin said, “Eyes up here champ.”

She nudged Marisa over with her hip and settled down beside the two girls. Steve sat on the step below them, taking the wine bottle from Robin when she handed it to him. It was dusk. The last touches of pink faded above them.

“Stevie, these are my roommates,” said Robin.

Marisa grinned suddenly at him. “Robin says we need to cheer you up because you’re in love.”

Jesus Christ. Steve raised his eyebrows at Robin. “Seriously?”

“Am I wrong?” she said.

He sighed, realizing he’d resigned himself to whatever lay in store for him before even stepping out of the car. Lila started tugging gently at his sleeve, motioning him to stand and follow her inside. “Come on Steve. We’re going to play a drinking game.”

  


The drinking game was Robin pouring out glass after glass of wine and grilling him with questions about Billy. Around glass three, he started answering truthfully. Robin and her roommates sat crowded around him at their little kitchen table, wondering how well Billy kissed, if he was good in bed, and whether or not Steve really loved him.

That was the only answer he felt comfortable giving. By now, he was drunk enough to admit, “Yeah. I think I do.” Then, swallowing down another large gulp of wine, he added, “Fuck if I know why. He’s a total pain in the ass.”

Robin nodded sagely to Marisa and Lila. “A total asshole. But if you saw his body, you’d understand.”

That launched them into about a million more questions about his new gay lifestyle, which he expertly side-stepped. Mostly. Stealing a glance at the oven clock, he was surprised to see it was almost midnight. He guessed he’d been fielding questions for longer than he thought. He was starting to feel sleepy instead of drunk.

Robin collected their glasses after they’d killed the second bottle. The running faucet and clinking of dishes kept him from falling asleep right there. Someone next to him said, “Do you think you’ll visit him?” He jerked his head up to look at Marisa. She leaned forward on her elbows, wine-stained mouth curling up.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I think so. I hope so.” If Billy ever wrote Steve back.

The faucet cut off. Robin flicked some of the water on her hands at Steve and sighed when he barely reacted. She scraped her chair back, sitting with her knees drawn up. “The real question, ladies, is will Steven follow his young lover to greater lands?”

Steve snorted. He laid his head back down on his folded arms. From this position, he could see a faint bruise on Robin’s neck. He’d given Billy enough of those to know where it came from. Steve carefully showed that info away for later. “I just bought a bed,” he grumbled.

Robin immediately rolled her eyes. “So? You can’t move your bed? You can’t buy another one?”

He shrugged. If he was being honest, all these questions were starting to bum him out. He guessed it was that time of night. Time for Sad Sack Steve. After basic, Billy would end up on a base somewhere. Anywhere. He’d have this whole life and Steve wished he had the balls to ask him if there was any place in it for him. He’d almost asked him in his last letter. The one Billy never answered anyways.

He pushed away from the table with a loud scraping noise. “Yeah. I don’t know. But I think I need to head out. It’s getting late.” Robin examined him critically, but nodded, standing to shepherd him to the front door. Marisa and Lila told him he should come back sometime soon, and Steve weakly promised he would. Right now he wanted to complete his nightly ritual of checking the mail before completing his other nightly ritual of going to sleep disappointed.

At the front door, Robin rested her hand on the doorknob without opening it. She looked uncertain, an expression that sat unnaturally on her face. “You know there’s more for you out there, right?” she said slowly.  “There’s so much more than Hawkins.”

Oh Jesus. Maybe it was the wine, but his eyes blurred over, and he blinked to clear them. Coughing, he said, “Thanks, yeah I know.”

“ _Do_ you?”

“I’m working on it. I talked to some people.” Like Allison’s mom. And Hopper. Talking to them, he felt like he’d finally broken the surface rather than drowning in the current. But thinking about Billy living his new life made him feel like he was drowning all over again. He wondered if this was how Billy felt about him going off to school.

 _I thought I was doing right by you_. Maybe Billy thought Steve was better than Hawkins too.

Robin’s smile was small and careful. She patted him awkwardly, once, on the shoulder, and opened the door for him.

  


He got home around one. The entrance to his apartment was concealed at the back of the gas station next to the dumpsters. It led to a small hallway patterned in pink paisley, ending in a single set of stairs that moaned at the passing breeze.

Steve glared at the mail slot with his apartment number on it. He should just get it over with. He was already so tired—it would take nothing to pass out right afterward. He banged it twice, to dislodge the door, and opened it. Steve blinked.

Sitting in the mailbox was his own letter. He ripped it out, catching the corner on the mailbox and nearly tearing it. Again. Clearly, someone had opened and re-taped it.

He turned it over, mind filling with static. A red “return to sender” stamp slashed over the back. It didn’t make any fucking sense. He kept turning it, as if something that did would magically appear.

Behind him, the stairs creaked, and the woman who lived next to him—Janet he remembered—descended them slowly. She was swaddled in a long sleeping gown. It looked like something from the 50s even though she probably wasn’t older than thirty.

“Glad to see someone else is still up. Steve, right?” she said. Janet opened her mailbox with no issue and slid out a bundle of magazines.

“Yeah,” he said, still staring down at the letter.

Her mailbox made metallic plinking noise when she closed it. “You’re very popular today. Phone’s been ringing for hours. Someone must want to speak to you very badly.”

He finally looked up at her and she gave him a knowing grin. “Oh, sorry,” he said automatically, already moving toward the stairs. He tried not to run up them immediately. “Thanks for letting me know,” he called over his shoulder.

Back inside his apartment, Steve’s attention zeroed in on the blaring red light of his answering machine. He knocked the phone out of its cradle in his haste to pick it up and fumbled it up to his ear. He could hear the pounding of his heart in his head.

5 messages. He started rolling through them.

_Steve. It’s Max. Call me back, okay?_

_Hey, Max again. Just call me when you get this._

_Where are you? Call me. Oh, this is Max._

_Steve—_

_Sorry, accidentally hung up. Call me. Please._

His finger hovered over the button. Already this sense of dread grew inside him. He didn’t know if he wanted to hear the last message. He wavered. And pushed the button

_Hey. It’s me. Uh, Billy. Guess you’re out. Gimme a call when you get this._

The phone beeped, signaling the end to his messages. Steve looked at his oven clock—it was one-thirty in the morning. He didn’t know the exact time change, but it would definitely be later in Georgia.

He should probably wait until morning. He definitely should. But he kept hearing Max’s voice, sounding urgent, and behind that, the flat resonance of Billy’s. He hit redial, trying not to swing into a fucking panic attack or something.

The phone rang for something like forever. Just when he was about to hang up, the receiver clicked, and he heard a man say, “Roy speaking.”

His brain shorted out. _Roy_. Who was Roy? Finally, he remembered how to talk. “Is Billy Hargrove there?”

A pause. “Who’s asking?”

“Steve. I’m his friend. He, uh, he called me earlier—”

“One second.” The line fuzzed over with the changing of hands. His anxiety switched to nervousness. His hands felt all clammy ringing out the plastic of the phone.

And then Billy was on the line, saying his name, and he hadn’t heard his actual voice in something like forever either. Billy repeated himself when Steve didn’t immediately answer him. “Harrington. You faint on me?”

“Jesus Christ, you asshole,” breathed Steve. God, he felt like he really was going to faint or cry or something. “What’s going on? Why the hell is Max calling me a thousand times?”

Billy made an annoyed sound. “Shit. Told her not to fuckin’ do that. It’s nothing. I just needed to talk to you.”

“Okay. My letter bounced back, by the way. Does it have anything to do with that?”

“Shit,” said Billy again. “Uh, yeah. Probably.”

Steve leaned against the wall, coiling and uncoiling the cord around his wrist. He heard Billy sigh again and couldn’t get over the fact that he was here, only separated by a line.

Something occurred to him while he was mooning over the sound of Billy’s voice. “Who the hell is Roy?”

Billy huffed out a bare laugh. He could imagine the face he was making, the one with his crooked smile. “You jealous?”

“Man, come on.”

“No, he’s, uh. One of Ted’s friends.” Billy went quiet for a second. “I’m actually in San Francisco right now.”

For the second time tonight, Steve forgot how to talk. He could feel his mouth opening and closing. He probably looked like a total loser. Everything he wanted to say clogged up his throat and he couldn’t get even one thing out. Finally, he settled on, “What the fuck happened?”

More silence. “Shit didn’t really work out.”

“No fucking kidding. I mean, what, did they kick you out? Can they do that? What, I mean what—what the fuck?”

“Stevie, I’m gonna need you to let me talk for a minute okay. Can you do that?”

The desire to call him an asshole came roaring back. Somehow he managed not to say it. Instead, he said, “I can do that.”

“Okay, good,” said Billy. He sounded so tired, Steve realized. It was the same flat voice he’d heard on his answering machine. He wanted to ask about a million more questions already, but he also wanted Billy to keep talking.

“Uh, some shit happened,” he said. “At basic. It was this—thing. I don’t know. My pops says he knows some people he could talk to but I don’t know if I want to go back—”

“Wait, so they’re really kicking you out?” Already he was breaking his promise, but he couldn’t fucking wrap his mind around what Billy was saying.

“Jesus, Harrington. Yeah. They, uh, discharged me.”

“What the _fuck_? Why?”

The silence that followed was so long Steve thought Billy had hung up for a moment. Then he heard him clearing his throat a couple times, like he was working up to what he wanted to say. Steve pulled on the cord around his wrist until the tips of his fingers turned purple.

“Some shit happened. This, uh, this guy in my squad.” More throat clearing. His voice sounded funny, and Steve wished he knew what expression he was making now. “I don’t know, I guess he found our letters or whatever. He brought them to the CO. It was this whole thing.”

Steve still didn’t understand. “He brought our—what? Why would he do that?”

Billy laughed, short and bitter. His voice was kind of hoarse sounding when he spoke again. “Man, I don’t fucking know. That’s just how this shit works if you’re a faggot.”

Steve felt himself flinching. He always felt weird when Billy called himself that. “So, yeah. I’m in San Francisco for now until I figure out what to do,” he went on. “I just wanted to let you know.”

“Yeah.” Everything Billy told him kept regurgitating inside his head, words circling in a loop. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “That’s fucking insane. He’s—that guy—what a piece of shit. I’m so sorry Billy.”

“It is what it is.” Steve wished with a breathtaking intensity that he was with Billy right now. He wished he could just fucking touch him. Suddenly just having him on the phone seemed like so little.

“How long do you think you’ll be out there?” he said, pacing the threshold between the kitchen and his room.

He could practically hear Billy shrugging through his silence. “Dunno. However long it takes to figure shit out.”

Without thinking, he blurted, “Can I see you?”

He was already running the numbers. His savings weren’t anything to write home about, but Mom’s weekly contributions might be enough to scrounge together a plane ticket. Mid-pace, he caught sight of the mattress on the floor. That had been $70 alone. He could probably sell it for $50…

“Man, you don’t need to come all the way out here.”

Steve rolled his eyes. Of course, Billy was missing the point. “I know I don’t need to. I want to.”

“Are you being serious?”

“Jesus, can I come fucking see you or not?”

“If you want.”

He rolled his eyes again. “Asshole,” he said.

 

+++

 

San Francisco was exactly how Billy remembered. And he couldn’t even fuckin’ enjoy it. He’d been crashing with Ted’s cousin Roy for about three weeks now. He’d only expected to take the couch for a couple nights before he wore out his welcome, but Roy told him in no uncertain terms he wasn’t going anywhere.

So he’d been there for three weeks, and in that time, he’d figure out Roy was a queer like him. He had a real fairy for a boyfriend. Philip. He was always wearing short pastel shorts and making cookies for Roy, who looked like he’d never enjoyed anything, let alone a cookie, in his entire life. In a way, Billy thought it was kinda cute, the two of them. Philip bopping around in his short shorts. Roy looking like he’d killed at least a dozen men in his life.  

And now Harrington was fuckin’ flying out to see him. He was landing in an hour. Billy was really starting to freak out. Probably, he’d earned the freakout long before now. Back at basic. He hadn’t told Harrington the whole story about how he really got kicked out, and he knew he had to, especially since he’d fuckin’ flown here for Billy, but the thought of it made him sick.

He chugged the rest of his lukewarm beer and forced himself to get up and take a shower. Then he changed his clothes about three times, which really made him feel like a sad queer. Roy looked at him struggling out of his T-shirt with a raised eyebrow. “You can take my truck to pick up your boy,” he said when he’d managed to shrug it off.

Philip appeared next to him in the doorway, his blonde hair expertly styled. That was another thing about him. He always had his fuckin’ hair done, like a chick. “I’d wear the first shirt,” he said. 

Billy sighed. And struggled back into the first shirt.

  


He felt surreal driving the loop around the airport. It didn’t feel like Harrington would really be there. All he’d been thinking about since he fuckin’ left Hawkins was _Steve Steve Steve_. Even if he wasn’t actively thinking about him, Harrington was there in his mind, popping up whenever the right song came on, or if he fuckin’ smelled any kind of Avene shampoo. One of the kids from his squad brought some Avene shit with him. Intake immediately hawked it from him. They all had to use standard issue shampoo. No conditioner.

On his second lap around the loop, Billy pulled up to the arrivals dock, glancing over the crowd. He was about to do another lap until his attention snagged on Harrington’s big dumb hair and his big dumb face—and fucking hell, Billy found himself throwing the hazards on and jumping out of the car. He didn’t know what he was doing. He felt kind of crazy. Like he was going to fuckin’ cry or something equally queer.

Steve hadn’t seen him yet. He was standing near a construction cone, squinting into the setting sun. He finally saw Billy when he was only a few steps away. His face slackened in surprise, and then Billy was dragging him into his arms, hands threading into his hair and face pushing against his neck.

He almost kissed him but managed to restrain himself. He didn’t even fuckin’ care if anyone saw them or called them fags. Harrington immediately got his arms around Billy too. It was too crazy having Steve right in front of him. _In his arms_. That surreal feeling returned.

“Can’t believe you flew all the way out here, man,” said Billy into the warm skin of his neck. He breathed him in deeply, smelling his fancy rich boy shampoo, and beneath that, the sweet tang of his skin. Steve's hands were clenched in Billy’s t-shirt. They clenched a little tighter.

“The lady next to me smelled like pickles,” mumbled Steve morosely.

Billy barked out a laugh. Shit, he’d missed Harrington so goddamn much. “And yet here you are, in one piece.”

Steve was the first to pull away from him. A moment of irrational panic seized him and he almost fuckin’ dragged him back, but then Billy remembered they were in public and his freakout would need to wait until they were at least in the car. Steve kept his hands circled around Billy’s wrists at least, so there was that.

The setting sun gilded all the flyaways in his hair, and he looked like a fuckin’ painting again. Billy’s heart clenched just looking at him. He wanted to get him into the car. Now.

“Here I am,” said Steve. He let go of Billy’s wrists to grab hold of his suitcase. Then he took up his hand, threading their fingers together. They walked like that all the way to the car. No one called them fags.

Not even when Billy practically fuckin’ threw himself at Steve the moment the car door was closed. Steve made a little noise when he kissed him. Billy was shaking; he didn’t know why he was fuckin’ shaking, but Steve’s hands were clutching at his shirt again, pulling him closer closer closer. Steve kept laughing randomly against his mouth, and Billy couldn’t stop smiling.

Finally, he managed to pull himself away. It was either that or pass the fuck out. Steve was laughing again like a maniac. His whole face was bright pink and he was throwing big dimples at Billy. Without thinking, he pressed his thumb lightly to one of them and felt Steve’s smile deepen.

“Shit, I missed you,” mumbled Billy.

Steve’s smile softened. “Me too. So. Where’re we going?” That kind of snapped Billy back to reality. He realized there was a line of cars parked behind him, so he eased them back into the flow of traffic.

Naturally, Harrington had about a million questions for him. He wanted to know if Roy was treating him right. If Billy was doing okay. If he needed anything. Like usual, Billy told him everything was fine. He made himself concentrate on the feeling of Steve’s hand in his.

Eventually, they pulled back up to Roy’s small house. He was already on the porch, drinking a beer. Philip was perched on his lap like a little dog. Billy smiled when he noticed Steve’s raised eyebrows. Roy was about three-hundred pounds, most of it muscle, completely bald, and his entire chest was covered in tattoos. He probably raised eyebrows everywhere he went.

“ _That’s_ Roy,” said Billy, pecking Steve on the lips and climbing out of the truck.

  


Philip made them dinner and insisted everyone eat together at the “family” table, which was really just a fold out table taken from the shed and dusted clear of any spiders. He’d even covered it in a Thanksgiving-themed table cloth.

“So this is _the_ Steve,” said Philip like a fucking terror when they’d all sat down together. “You could have done worse champ. _Much_ worse.”

Roy rolled his eyes. “Give the kid a break. Bills—you call your little sis back yet?”

Billy shook his head in the middle of shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth. Max had been calling him about once a day like a little mom to check in on him. He’d missed her call while he was picking up Steve, so he’d have to call her back at some point tonight. Next to him, Steve seemed relaxed and loose. He kept randomly brushing him with his knee. He liked the look on Steve’s face right now. He could really get used to seeing him at a dinner table.

Steve caught him looking and smiled. “You hear that? You could do a lot worse than me.”

“Yeah, yeah, he doesn’t know you yet.”

His sweet knee brushing turned into a savage bump. Billy flashed him a grin.

“So. How long are you here for Steve?” said Philip. “A couple days? A couple years?”

Steve choked on his forkful of food and thumped his chest until he could breathe again. That easy, relaxed look evaporated. He stole a glance at Billy, then back to Philip. “Uh,” he stuttered.

“Phil, babe, c’mon,” said Roy.

Philip grinned wickedly. “What? I’m making dinner conversation.”

“Make _different_ dinner conversation,” said Roy.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be here,” said Steve softly. He caught Billy’s eyes. “However long Billy wants me, I guess.”

Jesus, he almost choked on his food too. Billy repeated that again and again in his head, feeling like a lovesick moron. Philip only held his wineglass up.

“Years then. I’ll cheers to that!”

  


Everything settled down after dinner. Roy got out an air mattress for them to sleep on, gave them a twelve pack—minus six beers—and wrangled Philip into submission long enough to drag him out of the room. Probably to have wild gay sex or something. Hah.

Billy kind of wished he was having wild gay sex right now. All throughout basic, he’d forgotten he even had a libido. But now Harrington was lying beside him, his body warm and pliant. They were touching all along their thighs. He wanted him so bad it almost hurt. But Philip and Roy were in the next room, and he still hadn’t told him everything that happened at basic. Even thinking that killed his hardon.

Steve traced random designs along his forearm, just looking at Billy with this soft gaze. He used to see that face on Steve anytime he looked at Nancy Wheeler. And now he looked that way for him. His heart clenched again.

“I gotta tell you something,” he blurted.

Steve’s finger paused on his arm. “About basic,” he continued. He’d never said this part out loud, not even while it was happening.

“Okay,” said Steve slowly.

Billy gave himself a minute to get himself together. He’d rehearsed this about a thousand times now. It shouldn’t be so fuckin’ hard. “That guy I told you about,” he began. And stopped. Steve’s hand was a warm weight on his arm, just gently curled around him. He examined the light dusting of hairs along his knuckles until he felt he could speak again. “His name was Ryan. Think I mentioned him to you a while back. Anyways, I told you how he found the letters. But uh, I didn’t tell you about before that.”

“Okay,” said Steve again when Billy stopped talking. “What happened before that?”

Why was this so fucking hard? He counted down from ten. At five, he said, “He made, uh, a move on me or something. Tried to kiss me. I shut him down and that—that’s why he turned in the letters I guess. He told our CO I came onto him. They got this panel together, like a fuckin’ trial, and discharged me less than twenty-four hours later.”

He felt out of breath by the end of it. Steve was still holding his arm. He didn’t look upset or disgusted like Billy thought he’d look. He only seemed concerned, brow furrowed, lips turned down into a light frown.

Billy made himself say, “So, if that, like changes anything for you—”

“Why would it change anything? That guy is a total piece of shit. Jesus Christ,” said Steve immediately. Then, maybe reading something on his face, he said, “Billy. You know—you know that wasn’t, like, your fault. Right? That guy’s just an asshole.”

He just shook his head, feeling like he couldn’t talk again. “Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe—he saw something in me. My faggot _demeanor_ or whatever.” He tried to laugh but the sound died in his throat.

Steve gently cupped his face. His hand was so big and warm against his skin. “All that shit? It wasn’t your fault. Seriously. We’ll figure it out, okay? It’s going to be alright.” _We’ll_ figure it out. He nodded, feeling kind of desperate. Steve bridged the space between them to give him a soft kiss.

“Dad knows some people. His army buddies,” mumbled Billy, slanting his eyes away from Steve when he pulled away from him. “Said they could pull some strings for me.”

It had been humiliating to tell Neil about getting discharged—he hadn’t been fuckin’ planning on it at all, but Max knew, so Susan knew. And now Neil knew too. He hated to admit it, but some secret part of him was fuckin’ thrilled his old man would go to bat for him. Probably only offered because it was an embarrassment or something to have his only son chucked out of the military before he’d even joined it. But that didn’t change how he felt.

Steve’s frown twisted down further. “Do you really want to go back?”

No. He shrugged. “What else am I gonna do, man?”

Harrington made a humming noise. His hand moved from Billy’s face to his hair, just carding through it. Felt nice. Every stroke pushed back at his anxiety. “You ever consider going to school?” said Steve after a while.

“What? Are you serious?”

Harrington's shoulder lifted and fell. “You’re good at it. Got the scores to get in somewhere nice.”

Billy scoffed, but Steve went on. “I’m serious! Just—I don’t know. I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring your dad into all this. After all that shit he pulled?”

He stared off to a point behind Steve’s head. Harrington couldn’t know what he’d been thinking about that, but he still felt embarrassed, like he’d been caught. “Guess not,” he mumbled. Around a month into basic, Neil sent him a letter telling him he was—proud or something. He didn't exactly apologize for all the shit that happened between them, but he'd said he was proud. He still had the letter. Seemed so fuckin’ stupid now. Billy felt stupid. Neil's kindness was the bait concealing his hook. He knew that. He should _know_ that. 

“Just think about it, okay?” said Steve.

Billy didn’t promise to either way, but Steve didn’t bring it up again. He just kept petting through Billy’s hair, looking at him all soft. He almost couldn’t handle it, so he kissed him, nice and slow. Billy wanted to devour him. Steve’s kindness was a well. He kept waiting for it to bottom out, but it never did.

When they parted, Steve rested his forehead against Billy’s. He could see all the different shades of brown in his eyes this close up. “What are _you_ gonna do?” said Billy. “According to Philip, you’re stuck here for a few years.”

Steve chewed at his lip. “I think I could get used to San Francisco,” he said.

“You’ve only seen the freeway,” said Billy, scoffing.

“You’re here,” he said like it was so fucking simple. It was crazy to think Steve would stay here just for him. He didn’t even fucking know if _he_ was staying here.

“You said you were talking to some people,” he prompted.

“Yeah,” admitted Steve. “Hopper, actually.” Billy felt his eyebrows raise. Shit. Talkin’ to the Chief. “You know, you don’t need a college degree to become a police officer.”

“Oh, Officer Harrington is it?” he said and Steve grinned, batting at his arm.

“Shut up! It’s just an idea.”

Billy gave him another kiss. And then another. He pulled him closer until nothing stood between them besides their breath. “I like it,” he said against Steve’s lips and this time Steve kissed _him._

 

 

_Six Months Later_

 

Billy would never admit it, but he was totally freaking out—Steve could tell just by looking at him. He’d been quiet all day, for one. He didn’t even make a comment about Steve’s new shirt, which he’d bought just for tonight. It had _pineapples_ on it!

And. He’d been cooking for hours. Billy didn’t really cook, so when he did, it was cause for concern. He wouldn’t even let Steve help. Their little kitchen looked like a total fucking wreck when he walked in around four. Every surface had some kind of pan or food debris on it. Billy was in the middle of peeling potatoes like a maniac.

Steve stepped up behind him, kissing the back of his neck. His hair was a wild mass of twisting curls, finally growing out from his military cut. Billy leaned back into him but kept on peeling.

“You could feed Ireland with that many potatoes,” Steve murmured.

“Have you ever seen Max eat?” said Billy.

Steve kissed him again and stepped away. “Unfortunately. I’m gonna go pick Robin up. Need me to grab anything at the store?”

Billy shook his head, already moving onto the next potato. Steve hoped he didn’t burn down the fuckin’ kitchen or something. “Max and Susan said they’d be here by five?” he called from the mudroom, picking up the keys to Roy’s truck— _their_ truck. Technically, Roy sold it to them for a dollar.

“That’s what they said,” said Billy in a clipped voice.

Steve sighed, hoping he’d work out whatever he needed to work out by the time he got back. Or at least by five.

  


Robin directed him immediately from the airport to an In-N-Out burger even though Steve told her they’d have food at the party. She ordered two burgers anyways and ate them in under ten minutes. While she was busy choking away her double cheeseburgers, Steve asked, casually, “So. Who keeps giving you those hickeys?” She had another huge bruise peering out of her shirt.

Slurping loudly at her ice, she said around the straw, “Girls don’t kiss and tell.” Then she thumped her chest and burped. “But you don’t know her,” she added, winding the window down. And huh. He kept all further questions to himself.

By the time they pulled back into their little gravel driveway, the Camaro was already parked proudly on the street, gleaming under the evening sun. Susan and Max had driven it all the way from Hawkins just so Billy could have it back. Just to visit them here, in their new house.

Some quality about today kind of reminded him of the day he first came out here. They even lived down the street from Roy, in the “gayborhood” as Philip liked to call it. The house wasn’t much, but it was theirs, so that made it better than anywhere else he’d ever lived.

Looking at the trimmed front lawn, Steve started thinking about a garden. He wondered if Billy would like one.

When they got inside, the house was quiet, infused with the scent of Billy’s cooking. He peeked his head into the kitchen, satisfied to see all the mess cleaned away. Robin inspected their little home with an appraising eye. Seemingly satisfied, she dumped all her stuff down on the couch. “I like it. Suits you guys,” she said.

Max’s shriek of laughter reached them from all the way outside. He shepherded Robin through the mudroom to their backyard, where Susan was lounging in the pool chair they’d stolen while Max chased Billy around with his lighter. He felt himself smiling stupidly.

When Max saw him she immediately bounded over to him, punching him in the bicep, before hugging him. She’d had a growth spurt since he’d last seen her, and her hair was shorter now, just grazing her shoulders. Shit, he’d missed her. She pulled a crumpled paper out of her back pocket and handed it to him. “From the guys,” she said, then went back to chasing Billy. He unfolded it and felt his smile get even dumber. It was a picture of him as a police officer. Will Byers had definitely drawn it, since it was actually good. All the guys even wrote him little messages.

Around six, Roy and Philip arrived, pulling a literal wagon of liquor behind them. Most of the food was done by now, sitting out on a folding table. Philip kept flirting with Susan, who smiled prettily at every one of his dirty jokes.

Steve was sitting in the pool chair now, watching Robin and Roy attempting to build a fire in their pit. He watched Max lug Billy all around the yard like some kind of personal trainer, too. It was dark now, the sky pricked by the light of fireflies. He was on his second drink, one of Philip’s secret cocktails. He felt good. Really good.

Distantly, the sound of the screen door opening and closing reached him. Steve half-turned in his chair to see a couple of guys from the academy walking down the back steps—Liam and Derrick. He’d mentioned they were having a housewarming party, but he wasn’t expecting them to actually come. He smiled at them and waved.

Liam was about seven feet tall, and he looked massive carrying his small six-pack of beer. Next to him, Derrick barely cleared his shoulder. Billy caught sight of them and headed over. When he was closer, Steve took his hand and pulled him down onto the chair beside him.

“Liam, Derrick, this is my boyfriend Billy,” said Steve. Beside him, Billy froze, looking like a deer in the headlights.

Then Liam extended his massive hand. “So this is the famous Billy Harrington won’t shut up about. Nice to meet you, man.” Billy shook his hand, then Derrick’s.

“Ask Philip to make you a drink. He makes ‘em strong,” said Steve, pointing lazily over to where Susan and Philip were standing.

“Purple shorts?” said Derrick.

Billy had finally settled into his side. He said, sounding a little lazy and drunk himself, “Purple shorts.” Steve watched them walk over and introduce themselves to Philip, who made some kind of excited noise at being recognized for his bartending talents.

Steve had his hand in Billy’s hair, carding through his curls. He gave him a quick kiss on the forehead and only received a mild grumble in return. “Feeling better?” said Steve. He held up Philip’s cocktail and Billy took a sip of it directly from his hand.

“Yeah. Those the guys you’re always talking about from the academy?”

He nodded. “It’s nice making friends older than sixteen.”

He felt Billy’s smile against his neck. They watched everyone mingling together, Billy pressed against his side, Steve’s arm slung over him. It was so weird to think about the life he’d had even a year ago. Back when he didn’t know Billy. Back when he hated him. He pressed his nose into Billy’s hair, just to remind himself he was right here. He sat just like that when Billy softly told him, “I heard back from Berkeley yesterday.”

Steve’s heart clenched. He forcibly made himself keep it together. “What’d they say?”

He felt Billy shrug under him. When he looked down, Steve caught him biting at a nail. “Guess I got in,” he said, shrugging again.

“You _guess_?” said Steve, pulling back far enough to look at him. He avoided looking at Steve.

“Yeah, yes. I got in,” mumbled Billy.

He could feel himself making a dumb expression but Steve didn’t care. Right there, he kissed Billy, where everyone could see. And he didn’t care about that either.

 

+++

 

People started trickling out around eleven, but the party didn’t clear out completely until Roy forcibly hauled Philip over his shoulder and dragged him out at midnight. Susan and Max went back to their hotel and Steve’s friends left too. Robin sacked out at ten after three of Philip’s drinks.

It was just them now, washing dishes in their little kitchen. The one he _owned_ with Steve. It was too fucking crazy. Everything in his life felt too crazy.

He kept waiting for his old man to pop up or something. That was about what he was used to. All this new shit, where things went well, felt unsettling. Next to him, Steve was singing Janis Joplin under his breath, wiggling his amazing butt, and drying dishes to the tune. Billy had stopped washing dishes a while ago just to watch him.

The academy was good for Steve. He’d been putting on more muscle, making friends. His hair was shorter, which Billy regretted, but he guessed he could trade in a few things just to see Steve in a uniform. That did things for him too.

Looking at Steve in their kitchen, in their _house_ , made his chest seize. Steve looked up, caught him staring, and flicked water at him. “What? I got something on my face?”

Billy just shook his head slightly. He felt almost winded. Steve’s smile slowly faded the more he observed him. “You okay?”

That feeling in his chest swelled, driving the words out of his mouth before he could even think. “I love you so fuckin’ much,” he heard himself say.

The dish in Steve’s hand clattered into the sink. He gaped at Billy. For a second, he thought this was going to go south, maybe get awkward, but then Steve’s hands tangled into his hair, and he was kissing the breath from his mouth.

“Jesus, I’m glad we can say that now. I was going crazy,” he said.

Billy laughed. “I haven’t heard you say shit.”

Steve smiled against his lips. There, in their home, he said, “I love you too.”


End file.
